


Run

by mrsronweasley



Series: I Was a Teenage Werewolf [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley/pseuds/mrsronweasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a secret teenage werewolf is hard. Frank should know. He is one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how I could have ever done this without three special ladies. Oh my God, where to even START? *flaps hands* This monster required a LOT of hand-holding, and I had the best cheerleaders and betas in the WORLD.
> 
> Brooklinegirl encouraged this thing from the very start, even though werewolves were SO not her thing, and she not only kept me from quitting, time and time (and time) again, but also let me be crazy at her IRL, FOR MONTHS ON END, betaed the shit out of it more than once (and nearly made me weep in the process), and poured an incredible amount of love and was support into it right up until the end. She is forever my favorite. Thank you so so much, baby. ♥
> 
> Philosiraptors was SUCH a rock star, omg, I can’t even begin to describe it. She helped plot this monster out from the very very start, she carried me through a lot of crazy over the course of writing it, was a HUGE help with, basically, every aspect of this fic. Like. Amazingly so. She was also an incredible cheerleader throughout and gave me the funniest (and wonderful) beta notes in existence. Everybody should have a B-Rex. ♥
> 
> Finally, Shiningartifact was the absolute BEST, most sweetest cheerleader a girl could ask for. Even getting this thing in chunks, she believed in it the entire time and wouldn’t let me quit, even when I was a horrible whiny mess all over her. Her support has meant the world to me, and I could NOT have done this without her. ♥
> 
> ALSO, a HUGE thank you for all the werewolfbigbang mods for the incredible job they did, and being SO supportive throughout! You guys are my favorite. ♥
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are purely of my own making.

The door shuts behind Frank with a hollow bang, and the hallway is totally abandoned. That's good. That's really, really good, because he cannot possibly deal with other people right now, like, at all. Other people bumping against him, or hearing their too-loud voices, or smelling their sweat, or _anything at all_. He feels like his skin is burning right off his body, he's at the boiling point, and he barely has time to get to the nearest bathroom, and once he does, he should be okay.

He's running past lockers and skidding across the linoleum flooring, down, down to the end of the corridor, where the weakest light is spilling through the frosted windows. When he finally ducks into the bathroom, he looks around for a second and runs into the nearest stall. It's smelly and sticky and the lock gets jammed when he tries to shut the door, but it'll do, it'll _do._

The first touch of his hand on his own dick has him shouting out loud, that's how much of a relief it is, Jesus. Christ, he hopes no one heard that, but whatever, whatever, this feels - oh, so fucking good. It's not the usual feel-good of jerking off, it's like his entire body has been dunked into a vat of Vaseline when he's been itching forever. He fucking needs this. Right now.

He takes huge, gulping, dizzying breaths, his hand flying over his dick, and his orgasm rams into him, like he's been smashed into a wall head-first. He gets bent in half with the force of it, and he can't take a breath for a long time. Once he does, he comes up coughing and, Jesus, his hip is sore from where he'd banged it on the wall. Fucking hell.

He spits into the toilet and takes his hand off his spunked dick. He wipes it on his pants and leans against the wall for a minute, just breathing. Okay, so that was fast. But it usually is, at this point.

He lets himself calm down and put himself back together before walking out of the stall. The shadow on the floor is all the warning he gets - and then he sees him, someone else in the bathroom, sitting on a radiator by the farthest sink.

It's a new kid. He's got dirty long hair and bright red cheeks under his lowered eyelashes. They probably match Frank's face, but whatever. Frank tries to get himself riled up enough to get pissed, but he can't, his body feels too good, even though he knows it won't last. So what - he jerked off with someone else in the bathroom. Just because he sounded like a buffalo dying doesn't mean shit. It's natural, right?

He ignores the dude in the corner - what's he doing lurking in the corner, anyway? Oh. Frank spots the cigarette a second later - and walks to one of the sinks to wash his hands. He slams the soap dispenser a few times, but it's empty, of course, so he leans over to the next dispenser over and freezes. The guy's knee is directly in his line of sight, and something about the shape of it outlined through the stiff material of his uniform makes Frank's stomach flip over and - oh, fuck.

 _Fuck_ , there it goes again - that itchy-crawly feeling of his dick coming to life and the _need_ spreading all across his body, from skin to meat to bones, he's _vibrating_.

"Fuck."

He doesn't mean to say that out loud, but he hears it once it's out. The kid shifts and Frank follows the progress of his knee as he lowers himself to stand on the floor. Frank's frozen in place with his hand on the soap dispenser, and his eyes stuck looking at the guy's feet. He thinks he might vomit.

"You all right?"

The kid's voice is a bit rough from smoking, and Frank jerks his gaze up until he's looking him in the eye. He swallows and doesn't answer, but he does fall to his knees. What? _What?_ His brain is screaming at him to get up, get _out, what are you doing?_ , but his body's separated itself again. He's in full lizard-brain mode, and when he goes for the guy's belt, then his button, and then his zipper, the guy doesn't stop him. Frank thinks he might be frozen in shock, but so is Frank, really, apart from this crazy fucking _need._

The first taste of the guy's half-hard dick and Frank moans so loud, his ears pop. Oh, fuck, oh, _fuck_ , that feels good, it's been so _long_ \- and it feels even better when the guy's dick hardens right in Frank's mouth, the head filling out and spilling out that _taste_ , fucking _hell_. Frank's shoulders hurt and he doesn't get why, at first, and then realizes that the dude whose dick he's sucking has him in a vise grip, like he can't even stand without help.

Frank moans louder and clutches the guy's hip with his left hand, while fumbling for his own zipper with his right, his dick _throbbing_ , so fucking painful, he barely even wraps his hand around it before he's coming hard and hot all over it. He accidentally bites a little, and the guy shouts over him, but Frank doesn't think he's hurt.

"Oh, Jesus God, fuck, what are you - what are you - oh, fuck, oh _God_."

Frank is so blissed-out and turned on at the same time, all he can do is keep sucking the dick in his mouth until he feels the kick of the pulse, the tell-tale sign, and pulls off quickly, replacing his mouth with his slick hand.

Not quickly enough, because when the guy gasps and lets out a high keening noise, Frank forgets to duck and gets jizzed right in the face. If he had gotten hard again in time, he'd have come again, just from that. He slips out his tongue to taste the stuff on his lips, then finally looks up at the guy he just blew.

He's seriously pretty. And messed up - eyes totally black, cheeks flushed, mouth cracked and bitten, and he's wearing eyeliner. He's watching Frank like Frank is the messiah and the devil all rolled into one. Then he takes one hand off of Frank's shoulders and slowly wipes the come off of Frank's cheek.

Frank shudders and pants and Jesus, he can feel it, it's so close, it is _so close_. He just has to get through the day.

For a second, he blacks out from the pull of the coming moon on his skin, and when he comes to, he's been tucked away and more or less cleaned up. He's still on the floor, but now the guy's eye-level, their knees touching not at all casually.

"What's your name?"

"Frank." He doesn't mean to answer, but what the hell. It's not like the dude's gonna report him for surprising him with a blowjob, right? Fuck. What if he does? "You?"

"I'm Gerard. I'm new."

Frank snorts despite himself. "I know."

"Are you - you're not new, right?"

Just freaky. "Nope, this is my domain." He means the bathroom. The rest of the school can choke on his dick.

Gerard seems to get that, and laughs. His smile is wide and surprising. Frank bites his lip and can't stop from smiling back. "Good to meet you, Gerard," he says after a minute and finally struggles to his feet. He goes over to the sink and washes his hands with just water, which is gross, but it'll have to do. It takes him a while to get all the come off his fingers this way. He catches Gerard's reflection in the mirror. His smile is gone, and his eyes are wide. Frank turns around and leans with his ass on the sink, wiping his hands on his pants.

"I'll be out sick tomorrow, but if you want, we can have lunch together on Monday," he says, before he can stop himself. What the hell.

Instead of saying 'yes' or 'no,' Gerard asks, "How do you know you'll be out sick?"

Frank laughs kind of without humor and lets his head fall forward. "Getting that sickly feeling."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Frank looks up again. Gerard is still on the floor, like he's forgotten that it's cold and hard. Frank lifts his shoulders in question. "Okay what?"

"I'll have lunch with you." He sounds magnanimous, like he's doing _Frank_ a huge favor. Frank snorts and shakes his head, pushing off the sink.

"All right, I guess. See you Monday."

He leaves Gerard kneeling on the floor, and right before the bathroom door shuts behind him, Frank throws over his shoulder, "Locker J15, fifth period. Be there." He has no idea why he just did that.

The itchy-crawling feeling doesn't come back until he's leaving for the day and a sharp new smell invades his nostrils. _Gerard._ Somewhere in the same corridor.

Great. Now Frank will never get his scent out.

*

By the time the bus drops him off, Frank is ready to crawl out of his skin. Which fits, considering he's only a couple of hours from doing just that. He takes the shortcut through the cemetery, running so hard, his bag is beating a permanent bruise into his thigh, but he's finally fucking free. It feels amazing.

For a moment, he just wants to keep going – forget running home, his brain whispers at him, keep running to the woods, just do it, it'll feel so _good_ , just run until you can't run anymore - but he pushes the thought down, squashes it so hard, it almost hurts. He _can't._

His skin is burning up under his uniform, his feet hurt from hitting the paved paths. He's almost, almost there. He just needs to get home and get locked up, and then it'll just be him and nothing – nothing else.

He whines as he skids down the bend, then runs through the opened iron gates and speeds down the narrow lane that leads to the house.

He's panting by the time he jiggles his keys in the lock and his mom is already there, grabbing his backpack and helping him out of his shirt.

"Take your slacks off here, Frankie, I can't afford another pair," she admonishes, and he stops, barely able to do it, and shucks them off. They get tangled and he goes sprawling on the floor. "Baby, your shoes are still on," Mom adds, like he hadn't noticed.

"Fuck fuck _fuck_."

Everything hurts, he can barely even feel it where he banged his knees because that pain's too easy. It all feels worse this time around and he really, seriously hopes it's not the start of some pattern or anything. Once he's managed to chuck both the shoes and the pants, he runs down the basement stairs, his toes slipping on the wood. Mom is on his tail, his pants still bundled in her arms, and she catches his cheek for a quick kiss.

"Stay safe, baby, I'll see you in the morning."

He squeezes her hand, and then he's falling through the iron doorway, which she clangs behind him and starts in on all the catches and locks.

He looks out the iron bars lining the basement window and settles on the hay in the corner. Now he's got nothing at all to distract him from the wait, or the quickly worsening pain running through his whole entire body.

*

There's so much pain, it blinds him through the change. He sees nothing but red, and feels nothing but the ripping of his bones, the tearing of his skin. His claws curl out the next second; his fur rips through his every pore. He howls and lunges for the bars at the window, and then there's nothing but deep and mindless horror of the wolf who's been caged into his own mind.

The darkness lasts forever.

*

When he comes to in the morning, he watches the sun leaking across the ceiling and the empty scratched-up walls. He takes a couple of careful breaths before he can tell if he's cracked any ribs this time around. It doesn't hurt to breathe, but when he moves his arms and legs, pain blooms out of every single pore and he just barely stops himself screaming.

He can't stop himself from sobbing a little as he attempts to lever himself up and then falls back down. Fuck, that really _was_ worse than usual, what the hell. He settles back in against the hay stack and just breathes through it.

He doesn't hear his mom come down the set of stairs outside the door, the metal's too thick for that, but he hears it when she unlocks and unlatches the whole thing. She's wearing slippers, making quiet shuffling sounds, but even that feels like somebody's pounding on his head.

"Oh, honey," she breathes when she sees him and hurries down the last few steps.

He doesn't say anything as she wipes her cool hand across his sweaty, bloody forehead, then helps push him up and wraps him up in a blanket. He grits his teeth through the pain and breathes in and out as it recedes bit by bit. It's not fully gone by the time he's made it up the stairs and down the hall to his room, but it's less immediate, which is a small blessing.

Mom goes through the motions of getting him set up for the day. Remote on the nightstand, next to the Tylenol and two liter water bottle. Phone wedged in between his pillow and the wall. Cereal in a bowl on the tray, with a cup of milk next to it, so nothing gets soggy if he falls back asleep too soon. When he was first turned, it was like they'd traded the irregular but stupefyingly common illnesses for this monthly crap. Frank has never settled on what he prefers, really, and hasn't ask Mom, either. It's just what they do. He doesn't miss the bouts of pneumonia, though.

"Rest up now, okay? I'll call you on my break, see how you are."

Frank looks over at where she's leaning against the doorway, her hair in a slightly crazy halo around her head. He clears his throat. "Thanks, Mom. I'm good," he rasps.

"All right." She looks like she's battling her feet for a while, but then she finally leaves and he hears the car tear out of the driveway before he passes out again.

*

"Hey, Iero, you missed a quiz!"

Frank sighs. His math teacher is such a fucking tool. The dude is, like, fifty thousand years old, and he thinks he and Frank are buddies. Frank is a loser, but he's not loser enough to be buddies with the aging hippie who attempts to teach them pre-calc on a daily basis and fails ninety percent of the time.

Frank is tempted to just keep walking, but he knows Masters is pretty likely to run after him. How is this Frank's life, seriously.

"Hey, Mr. Masters, sorry," he calls out after swiveling back around and jogging up to the classroom where Masters is leaning against the door frame like he's James fucking Dean. James fucking Dean with scraggly long grey hair and a vest from the Ye Old West. "I was sick again, my mom wrote a note. Do you need to verify?"

Masters gives him that indulgent _I know you were really sick with a hangover, but I'll let it slide this time, I've done worse things in my youth, ho ho ho_ smile and pats Frank on the arm.

"Not a problem, dude, I'll be giving a make-up after school tomorrow. Chapter Three – know it, love it."

Frank bites the inside of his cheek and nods before turning back around and heading towards his locker. Who the fuck gives make-ups on _quizzes_ , he wants to know. Fucking Masters, fucking useless…

Frank sniffs the air when a scent hits him and brings him up short six lockers away. That new kid Gerard – _the guy you blew_ , a little voice reminds him – is standing right by his locker, chewing on a ragged black-painted nail. He's got a messenger bag slung over his chest and Frank can just make out an Iron Maiden button on the strap. His dark hair is hanging in his face and he looks really…nervous. He smells really nervous, too.

Frank swears under his breath, looks around, and walks the last few steps that bring him to his locker.

"Uh, hey," he says when he's got his hand on the lock, twirling it into opening. "What's up?"

Gerard shrugs and sweeps hair out of his eyes. "You mentioned lunch, so, I don't know." He's kind of shifting and twitching beside Frank and Frank has a quick unhelpful flashback to how he looked when Frank was on his fucking knees in front of him three days ago, which he has to forcibly squash down. Thank God the moon is waning. He can't believe he fucking forgot about telling him they'd have lunch together. He can't believe he _blew him in the school bathroom_. What was he _thinking_?

"Right," he says finally, his face practically inside his locker, pretending like he's looking for something in there. It smells pretty rank – did someone slip him rotten meat again? Fucking meat-loving assholes – and he can only take so much before slamming the door closed. Which helps with the smell not at all, and also brings him face to hopeful face with Gerard.

"So, yeah?" Gerard asks and then his face breaks into a smile that immediately transforms him into a weird mix of little kid and fucking, just – _beautiful_ guy. Frank takes a step back and watches Gerard's grin fade, leaving him looking simply awkward.

Frank fiddles with the strap of his bag and curses the fucking moon for bringing this on him in the first place. But of course, it wasn't entirely the fucking moon, so sure. Sure, he'll suck it the fuck up and have lunch with this kid today, and then maybe a few more times before he's dropped like a sack of rotten potatoes for being a fucking freak of nature. Why the fuck not, he's got nothing else on his social fucking agenda, and not like it'll be the first time.

"Sure. Let's go," he finally says and turns around to lead the way.

*

Walking through the cafeteria is a trial, as always. Even though he's through this month's change, he can still taste the disgusting smells in the back of his throat, and it's pretty fucking foul. Normally he'd just skip this place entirely and eat his salad under some tree out in the courtyard, but it's fucking pissing down outside, and it looks like Gerard didn't bring a lunch, anyway. He probably doesn't know better yet.

And speaking of Gerard, he is currently trailing Frank like a pale puppy, not engaging in conversation, but definitely present and kind of unrelenting. He's not yet a familiar presence, but already recognizable. Frank doesn't know if it's his own brain supplying the memories, or if Gerard is thinking about their little bathroom encounter, too, but there's an undercurrent of _sexsexsex_ invading Frank's nostrils, beneath all the grease and meat and bodies.

He shakes it off as much as he can and plops down at the farthest table. His elbow instantly lands in something sticky, but whatever, at least they'll be out of the way here.

"Are you buying your lunch?" Gerard asks, hovering over Frank uncertainly.

"Nah, I bring my own. They've got, like, nothing vegetarian here worth eating at all," Frank answers, dragging out his tupperware.

"Oh. Okay." Gerard is glancing between Frank and the lunch line filled with rowdy assholes, and Frank can't really blame the dude for not wanting to join in, but he isn't about to throw himself under that particular bus, either. "Uhm. Okay," Gerard says again and visibly steels himself before trudging off to join in the fray.

Frank's almost done with his salad by the time Gerard returns with his lunch tray. It smells pretty vile, even if it's just chili. But it's the school chili, which means it's mostly goopy beef and overcooked beans swimming in some tomato sauce. Gerard doesn't look too thrilled with it, and Frank feels kind of bad for him.

"You should bring your own," he says. "It's really not worth the carnage, you know?"

Gerard nods miserably and tucks in, making a face. Frank can't help cracking up. "I have some pop-tarts for dessert, if you want," he offers before he can think better of it. Gerard looks up at him, spoon halfway to his mouth.

"You sure? I might need some, this shit is seriously grossing me out."

Frank can't exactly say "no" now, so he just rips into the package and slides out a pop-tart, putting it on the cleanest part of Gerard's tray he can find. "Knock yourself out."

After Gerard's eaten less than half of what's in his bowl, he pushes it away and they finish off their pop-tarts in similar silence. Frank hasn't eaten lunch with another person in a while, so he can't quite remember if it was always awkward, or if it's just him.

"So, uh," Gerard starts, then pauses. Maybe it's not just him. Frank waits him out, because he sort of has an idea where Gerard might want to lead the conversation, and he isn't sure if he really wants to go there. Ever. Jesus, he still can't believe he did that. "So, like, are you a senior?"

Frank mentally adjusts whatever he thought Gerard might ask, and kind of snorts. "I fucking wish. Junior. Still have almost two years at this place."

"Oh," Gerard nods.

"You?"

"I'm a senior."

Frank sighs a little. "So how come you're just switching schools now? Did you move?"

Gerard shrugs. "Yeah, kind of."

Frank wonders how you can only "kind of" move but doesn't push it. Not like he's willing to answer any questions pretty much ever, so.

He looks around the cafeteria, and watches all these jerk-offs in their natural habitat. From his vantage point, he can see Heidi Mack rolling her eyes at her minions, and Hillman's got some poor freshman's face in his armpit, receiving a fucking noogie like it's the fucking 1950s, and the smells hanging around are enough to make Frank want to vomit up his own lunch, and seriously, it's like a Frank-particular circle of Hell.

He turns back at Gerard, who's watching him in a careful and weird sort of way and shakes out his shoulders. "Listen, wanna get out of here?"

"Fuck yes."

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

*

Frank shouldn't actually give up the one place he can get some peace and quiet around these parts to a dude he barely knows, but he does, anyway.

"But don't abuse the privilege, this is _my_ spot, all right?" he warns and watches Gerard nod at him silently.

He jiggles the loose lock until it gives and slips through the doorway. At some point, this was probably a janitor's closet, but it's become kind of remote, ever since they added on that other huge-ass wing on the other side of the courtyard, so now it's just a tiny little room with a single light bulb to illuminate it, and Frank has made it his own.

It's kind of small and it plays on his claustrophobia in a big way, but it's better than being stuffed in a locker, and he'll take what he can get.

He slips in, nodding at Gerard to join him, then reaches over and pulls the door shut. Then, as a ta-da kind of moment, he turns on the light and slides down to the floor, using his jacket for a cushion.

"Cool," Gerard breathes, looking around. Frank settles back against the wall and watches him take it all in. "Shit, are these yours?" Gerard picks up last month's X-Men issue off the pile and starts flipping through it. Frank reaches over and snags the one underneath it.

"Yep. I've been keeping some here in case I forget to bring something with me, so this way I'll always have reading material." He's pretty proud of himself, and so far, nobody's discovered this place. He really should have thought a little more before bringing Gerard here, but at least he knows that if any of his stuff goes missing from here, it won't be because Gerard is a spiteful asshole. He seems genuinely excited about the comics.

"Wow, dude," Gerard says now, still looking through the issue. "Man, my little brother snagged this one and I totally forgot to get it back, shit. Uh, do you mind if I read it now?"

Frank shrugs. "Be my guest, just don't get any crap on it."

Gerard gives him a huge smile, looking like a little kid again, and settles in until he's comfortable – it, apparently, takes a while. He keeps shooting little hopeful glances in Frank's direction that Frank chooses to ignore for the time being. Instead, he takes out his cell to look at the time. They've got a good twenty minutes of lunch left, and now he doesn't have to make awkward conversation. Score. He takes out his iPod and scrolls through until he finds "Zero." It's a Pumpkins kind of hour.

*

"So, uh, I guess I'll see you?" Gerard says once they've climbed out of the closet, and Frank bites his lip and shrugs. It hadn't been, like, horrible or anything. It was actually kind of nice, just sharing space with someone like that, with no interruptions or much tenseness or anything. Gerard had maybe been kind of twitchy, but Frank is starting to think he's just a twitchy kind of guy. More importantly, Gerard hadn't demanded an explanation for the impromptu blowjob or, like, asked for another one, so Frank is maybe willing to cut him some slack.

"Sure. Tomorrow? Same time?"

Gerard shrugs on his bag and gives him a grin through his messed up hair. Dude seriously needs a wash. "Cool. See you then, man."

Frank gives him a quick nod and then flees. He's got French next period, and you do not mess with Monsieur Chevalier. Monsieur Chevalier wears horribly patterned ties with buttons on them that play "I Love Paris" and looks like that Mephistopheles guy they read about last year. Frank isn't afraid of too much shit, but Monsieur Chevalier really kind of fucking scares him.

*

The next day, Gerard does meet him in the same spot, and this time he's brown-bagged it. Frank can't help cracking up a bit at his winning expression, and he leads Gerard through the maze of hallways into his wing with a slightly lighter heart. Any day he doesn't have to fight through the jockstraps in the cafeteria is a better day than yesterday.

"So, how long have you been collecting these?" Gerard asks as soon as his ass hits the ground across from Frank.

Frank shrugs. "I don't know, a while, I guess. I mean, like. I've been buying them for a while, but only started bringing them here this year."

Gerard nods seriously. "Man, that is so cool. I always wanted to have a spot, like, all to myself in my old school, but it was crap. Mikey kept me company at lunch, though, last year."

"Mikey?" Frank had been thinking that they'd have another quiet lunch hour, but doesn't seem like it's going to happen.

"My kid brother," Gerard says, a smile quirking his lips a bit. "He's a sophomore now."

Frank frowns. "How come he's not here with you, then?"

Gerard's smile fades a little and he shrugs. "Just didn't work out." He doesn't say anything for a while, just rummages through his backpack for a long time. Frank wonders if it's the tuition. If it weren't for his dad's help, he wouldn't be able to afford this place, either, not like he's been dying for it, at any rate. But it's the better school, so his mom waded through a whole lot of crap to make it happen for him. He feels ungrateful every time he skips class, but some days are just unbearable. He's been getting vaguely decent grades, anyway, when he's bothered to put in the effort.

Gerard finally drags something out of his bag – it's like a Mary Poppins bag, seriously, Frank can tell from over here that there's a shitload of crap in it – and it looks like a sketchpad. Then out come markers and pens and shit, huh.

"You draw?" Frank asks as Gerard flips through a bunch of sketched-in pages to a clean one.

Gerard gives him a look from under his bangs. It's, like, calculating and unsure at the same time, and Frank can't actually hold it for long, it's like staring into fire, hurts your eyes after a while. "Yeah, a bit."

It doesn't just look like ‘a bit' to Frank, so he pushes himself forward to try and get a better look. He's only ever drawn, like, stick figures and bags of flaming poop, even though at some point in grade school, his art teacher told him he'd be really good if he "applied" himself. Frank didn't really care to "apply" himself at drawing, and then he got turned, anyway, and stopped even trying. "Can I see?"

Gerard tucks a strand of greasy hair behind his ear and, after throwing Frank another vaguely uncertain glance, turns the sketchbook towards him.

"Whoa, dude," Frank breathes. Okay, Gerard clearly doesn't draw ‘a bit.' The entire page looks like a comic book got thrown together, all panels into one – there's, like, vampires and The Team from Doom Patrol on there, too, and Frank flips page after page. Gerard's got _style._ It's all black inky lines and blood-red slashes. "This is super cool," Frank says, his finger hovering in the air over a really awesome Wolverine sketch. "Did you teach yourself?"

Gerard is actually blushing and radiating heat across from him. "Nah, I mean. My grandma taught me at first, then I started taking extra lessons and whatnot. I'm applying to art schools for next fall." He says the last sentence like he's planning a trip to the moon. Art school, shit. Frank hasn't even gotten much past finishing this year, forget getting past _high school_. For a second, he's so furiously jealous, he can't even breathe. Then he forces himself back onto his leash, and says, "Wow. That's awesome, dude," because it _is._ He shifts until he's sitting back down against the wall. "You're really talented."

Gerard smiles and ducks his head, his fingers already sketching something on a half-filled in page. "Thanks. I'm really excited, like – this one school? SVA? It's in the city, and it's _all_ art, not just, like, a _major._ And they've got a comic program there."

"Wow, seriously?" The sounds way cooler than any other college Frank has ever heard of.

Gerard nods, never stopping sketching. "Well, it's illustration, but, like, that's part of it? And they teach you how to ink properly and plan out panels and – yeah, it's fucking sweet. I wanna, like, write and draw my own comic someday."

Frank thinks he might be staring. "Dude, that is so cool. Do you have, like, ideas?"

"Shit, I got a _ton_ ," Gerard says, and this time, he even pushes his sketchpad aside and sets down his marker. His eyes are practically glowing from excitement. "Like, I'm really interested in supernatural shit? Vampires and stuff, but not even that, it's more like – the idea of something totally freaky happening under the surface, and people not ever knowing it, you know? I just think how cool it'd be if the real world actually did have something like that, and I'm not even talking Superman or any shit like that, I'm talking something more interesting, different and, like, edgy, you know? Like X-Men, maybe, only grittier. I don't know. Or, like, something totally different but that occurs in nature and no one knows about it, you know?"

Frank does know that, unfortunately. He shifts around on the floor, trying not to think about how this is skating just a bit too close to home for comfort. "Uh, yeah?"

"So, I have this idea about how – oh."

"What?"

Gerard's torrent of words completely dries up, and now he's staring at Frank and chewing on his lip. "I'm babbling, I forgot – I mean – you're probably not interested. Sorry." He breathes the last word, like he's been _chastised_ , and Frank feels bad despite the fact that he didn't actually _do_ anything.

"No, dude, you should totally tell me. Or, like, draw your ideas and shit." There, that's showing genuine interest, right?

Gerard scrunches up his nose. "You sure?"

Frank rolls his eyes, just to prove his point. "I'm sure. But I think we gotta go, dude, the bell's gonna ring in a minute."

After they stumble outside, Frank is about to sprint off to French when Gerard holds him back by his sleeve. Frank blinks at him. "Uh."

"Just, I don't know," Gerard says, letting go of Frank and toeing the ground. It makes him look like a little kid again, maybe. It's really pretty cute. "Thanks, I guess. That's a sweet place you've got here."

Frank shrugs like it's no big, even though it totally is, he knows. "No problem, dude. Show me those drawings, all right?"

He doesn't really wait for Gerard to answer, but whatever, he's got a class to get to and jocks to skip past.

*

The next morning brings nothing but pain and humiliation, and by the time Frank climbs out of the gym showers and manages to dress himself in the wet rags those assholes have made of his clothes, he just doesn't feel like sticking around for the rest. His mom would be disappointed, but what the fuck is he going to do, start sticking his own head in the toilet or throwing himself around in the showers before they even get to him?

No. And he's not going to spend half of his day shivering in wet clinging clothes. He's not going to forget the look on Dershowitz's face when he spied Frank's scars and bruises, either, and that's a different kind of humiliation.

 _"What, your daddy beat you at home, Iero? Pissed he got such a tiny faggot freakazoid for a son?"_

Frank had almost wished for the full moon so that at least he could have lashed out in earnest, but he just wound up falling over a lot, because his body was _still_ aching from the weekend. Fucking assholes.

He picks a wet wedgie out of his ass and shuffles out of the gym. He just has to grab his iPod from his locker – hard lessons learned from too many broken belongings every gym period – and he is fucking _out_ of there.

He rounds the corner, and oh, crap. Gerard is at his locker, even though Frank is about fifteen minutes late for lunch. And while Frank is kind of excited he's got someone to talk to at school now, he's so not in the mood for it today. Fuck.

Gerard is sitting on the floor like he's been there a while, propped up against the wall of lockers, ear buds running down his front, cord leading into his messenger bag, sketching. He definitely hasn't heard Frank yet. Frank has a moment of just wanting to turn around and not even deal, but he's left important shit overnight in his locker before, and it's never ended well. And he can't afford another iPod. He sucks it up and shuffles forward. In the quiet of the hallway, all he can hear is the squeak of his shoes, the rustle of his wet pants, and the tinny sounds leaking from Gerard's headphones.

Frank doesn't know what to say when he finally reaches Gerard, so he just kind of nudges his butt with his foot. Gerard startles like Frank had thrown a bucket of water over him and gasps. For a split second, Frank's right back on that dirty bathroom floor, on his knees, Gerard panting over him. He shakes his head and looks down at Gerard now, attempting a grin and totally failing.

"Frank! Hey, you scared me, man," Gerard says, relief flooding his features. Then he takes Frank in and frowns. "Hey, what the – what happened to you, is it raining outside? Did you fall in the lake or something?"

Frank shrugs and taps his locker meaningfully. Gerard's eyebrows fly up and he mumbles something as he struggles to his feet. Frank doesn't answer, just flips through the lock and gets the door opened.

Gerard is hovering real close, so close, Frank can smell his stale clothes and sweat. It doesn't turn him off as much as it should, which is fucking annoying. He grabs his iPod off the shelf and shoulders his bag. It's ripping again, and he has to patch it up, and he fucking hates sewing this thing, the fabric's always too thick and he winds up stabbing himself with the needle, like, a thousand times before he manages to get it through even once.

"Frank?" Gerard's voice is tentative and unsure and Frank sighs. He wishes he didn't have to explain.

"Nothing happened. Just… Just school crap, you know." He leans out of the locker and slams the door shut. A passing janitor gives him a dirty look and Frank just barely manages to suppress flipping him the bird. Why is everybody such a fucking asshole, seriously.

"Sorry," Gerard offers. He sounds kind of confused. Well, Frank is confused, too.

He keeps watching the yellow metal door, wondering how they keep managing to shove crap in. There's barely room in the slats for, like, a baby finger to fit through. "Listen, sorry about lunch, but I'm bailing. Can't stay here like this." Baby finger, what the fuck.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Frank shrugs and finally turns towards Gerard. "So, I'll see you another time, I guess. You can, uh, you can use my room if you want," he offers without even checking with his brain first.

Gerard's chewing on his lip, his eyebrows drawn together in this tragic arc, and seriously, does this dude's every emotion show up directly on his face, or what? "Oh," he says, and adds, "Where are you going?"

Frank rolls his eyes. "I don't know, away from this place, okay?" He can't believe he's still here, either. And that he's about to skip out on _French_. Shit, Mom is going to murder him, he'd _promised_ her to be better. Chevalier is just going to skin him alive. But his pants are sticking to him and making everything itch, and he's fucking _freezing_ , and he hates everybody, and if he doesn't get out of here right now, he is going to lose the last shreds of his sanity. "So, I'll see you later, okay?"

He turns to go and even manages a few steps before Gerard is right there, tugging on his arm, catching up. "Hey, d'you – d'you mind if I come, too?"

Frank sighs and shakes his head. "Fine, Jesus, but, like, I got no cool place to go, I just wanted to _leave_." Gerard doesn't expect Frank to, like, entertain him or anything, right? Because Frank is not in an entertaining kind of mood right now.

"Dude, that's fine, I just. I mean. You don't mind, right?"

"Oh, Jesus, _no_ , okay?" Frank snaps and instantly feels bad, because – Gerard didn't do anything. Sure, he's kind of clingy, but at least he fucking seems to like Frank, for now. That doesn't come along every day. "Sorry, just. Let's get the fuck out of here and we'll talk."

He doesn't quite mean that in a way it comes out, but then he catches a glimpse of Gerard's face and it's – weird. Gerard, like, lights up or something. Something about him gets excited, anyway, and Frank thinks, wait, wait, no, that's not what I _meant._

But he doesn't say it, just leads Gerard out through the doors under the center staircase, the ones that are monitored by that hippie-ass stoner janitor that tends to turn a blind eye to Frank whenever he sees him leaving school grounds. He's there now, too, pretending like he doesn't see two weird students, one of whom is sopping wet, walking quickly away around the football field and smoking.

Frank slows down as soon as they hit the bend and shivers when the wind hits him, his lungs shriveling up. "So, what do you wanna do? I gotta change out of these clothes at some point, or I'll –" Actually, he'll _nothing_ , he hasn't been sick in years, but some things stick with you, apparently. "It sucks, basically."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Uh, will your mom get mad that you cut classes?" Gerard asks curiously.

Frank shrugs. "Yeah. But she's working through some deadline tonight, I think, so she won't be home for a while." He's a dick for feeling happy about that, he knows she hates working late, but it's not like he's the one who sets the deadlines. He kicks at a plastic cup on the ground and can't believe he's about to say this. "Wanna come over? I have, like, coffee. Do you drink coffee? We've got coke, too, I think." He's got some pot stashed away, as well, but he thinks he's shared enough with Gerard already.

Gerard's grin is so wide, Frank thinks it'll blind him. "Awesome!"

*

It takes them a while to walk to Frank's, mostly because no busses run convenient to their place except for the school bus, but it's kind of worth it for the look on Gerard's face when he realizes that Frank's back yard is directly adjacent to a cemetery.

"Shit," he breathes and turns around. "Can we go there? Like, now?"

Frank cracks up. "Maybe. I gotta get out of these clothes, first."

He lets them in through the back door, because he doesn't want the neighbors seeing him home so early, just in case one decides to call his mom. It's weird, bringing somebody new here. They have people over, but they're adults, people Frank's mom knows, or his dad, when he visits with Melanie, or Frank's cousins, or something. Never anybody Frank has just met, just like that.

He tries to see the place from Gerard's perspective – the pictures on the wall, the faded carpet – but he doesn't really know what Gerard's perspective is yet. Frank just watches him take the place in, or at least the short run of the hallway before they get to Frank's room, and _that's_ weird.

His room has really stayed the same for years, apart from the posters changing up, maybe, and the books on his shelves, so it almost feels like he's letting Gerard see his ten year old self. Looking at it like that, he gets the urge to shove him out the door and never let him back in again. But he doesn't, he just allows Gerard to shuffle in behind him, and drops his bag faster than he can say "thank God."

He's halfway through stripping off his clothes before he realizes what he's doing, and when he turns around, Gerard's frozen on the spot, his mouth half-opened like he's forgotten how it works.

"Uh," Frank says and looks down past his bruised chest to where his wet underwear is plastered to his hips and junk, his pants down around his calves. "Sorry, man, I just – really wanted to – I mean, this was seriously –"

Frank doesn't get to finish the sentence, because while he was busy stammering, Gerard has apparently managed to make himself move enough to cross the few steps between them and – what? _what?_ \- capture Frank's mouth in a kiss.

Gerard _kisses him_ , lips soft and wet against Frank's, and Frank's lungs fill up with too much breath as he forgets to let it out, because Jesus, he's – it's –

Frank never expected his first kiss to happen on such a shitty fucking day.

He garbles something out, and kind of wants to push Gerard away, but his hands won't move and he's still standing there with his pants around his fucking ankles, and Gerard is still _kissing_ him – not even touching him anywhere else, just _kissing_. Maybe not like they kiss in movies, but it's real soft and stupidly _sweet_ , how does it taste so _sweet?_ And it lasts for a million mind-spinning years before Frank's numb hands finally come up enough to push Gerard away.

"What the fuck," he says, watching Gerard's face, but Gerard's eyes are still closed, though his mouth is open. "Gerard, what the –"

Gerard opens his eyes and just looks at Frank through his eyelashes, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he sneaks a hand up to the small of Frank's back, and Frank can't stop the shudder that runs all the way up his spine, a painless kind of shiver that echoes the change, and his brain completely confuses the two because he just – falls against Gerard. He doesn't even mean to move, but when he does, Gerard catches him fast and hard and then they're kissing again, but this time Frank's mouth falls open and Gerard slips out his tongue and – fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Frank can't even – he feels like he's falling through a dark tunnel and will never come out the same again.

Gerard's tongue slides against his and Frank actually moans, _moans_ , like he's never done anything more, never done anything worse. How does a fucking kiss do that to him? He has no idea, but he presses closer to Gerard, until his chest is leaving a wet imprint on Gerard's shirt, against _his_ chest, and Gerard moans right back, the sound vibrating through Frank's skin, and he's clutching at Frank so hard, it actually hurts where his bruises are worst. Frank wants to curse and he wants to push away; he wants to get even closer, he wants to press his – hard, Jesus, he's _hard_ \- dick against Gerard's, but most of all, he wants out of his fucking _pants_.

"Ge – Gerard," he mumbles, and it doesn't really come out as anything resembling words, so he struggles until his mouth mostly belongs to him again, and says, louder, "Gerard, _wait_ , wait, I –"

"What, was – hmm?" Gerard's eyes are heavy-lidded and unfocused, and it's stupidly hot, like, languid and weirdly seductive, which is…unexpected. Frank tears his gaze away and lurches until he's able to finally, fucking _finally_ , get his feet out of his disgusting pants. He sees, while he's down there, that Gerard's beat-up Chucks have the Misfits skull drawn on them in Sharpie.

"Uh." Had he noticed that before? It's fucking _awesome._ "Those are awesome," he says before he can stop himself.

"What?"

"Your, uh – the Misfits thing, dude, that's so badass," Frank says and finally struggles back up, using Gerard as a climbing tree. Everywhere he's touching him is warm and kind of, like, pulsating, even his palms when Frank brushes them with his fingers.

"Huh?" Gerard asks and Frank gets stuck watching his flushed face. He's already forgotten what they were talking about.

"Nothing, nothing, just –"

It feels like the waxing of the moon, this ridiculous pull, but it isn't, Frank knows that. But maybe it is, maybe he isn't actually this stupid, falling into something without thinking. It's – it's the middle of the day, he's in his _room_. Nothing about this feels real or normal. If he's ever in his room in the middle of the day not on a weekend, it means he's sick. It means he's crazy. In the dead of winter, it means he's about to _change._ But that's impossible.

He leans in minutely and in a flash, Gerard is there, meeting him, struggling against him a little bit, kissing him open-mouthed and hot. Frank can't even catch his breath – he's dizzy.

He has no idea what he's doing. He's getting the hang of the whole tongue-in-mouth thing, sure, but on a deeper level, he has no idea why he's letting Gerard do this to him, back him up until Frank's ass hits his desk and then – Frank feels his gasp torn out of his throat – grind against him, Gerard just as hard as Frank. That should feel familiar, but it doesn't, not when Gerard's got Frank's face between his sweaty palms, and his tongue sliding wetly in and out of Frank's mouth. Frank can't _think_ like this, he's lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, from how much he wants to shove Gerard onto his floor and grind against him until they both come, and then do it all over again. He squeezes his hands around the hard edge of the desk and tries to breathe.

A car door slams right outside his window and Frank jerks out of Gerard's grasp so hard, Gerard stumbles back. When Frank plasters himself up against the window, he sees that it's not his mom's car and it's not his mom, but it _could_ have been, and he's not – no. This is –

"You gotta go," he tells Gerard when he turns back around, feeling crazy, hating how shot his voice sounds. Gerard's eyes are wide and his mouth is red and slick and open in a wordless question. His hands are clutching empty air, looking listless, hanging there down by his sides. His shirt is still damp from the imprint of Frank's chest.

Frank bites his lip and repeats, "You gotta go, I'm sorry, I just – my mom and – you –"

He doesn't finish, crossing the few steps between them, aware of how fucking stupid he must look with his dick still hard in his wet, clinging underwear, bruised up all to shit, and Gerard's face is actually so tragic, it'd be heartbreaking if Frank wasn't so fucking lost himself.

Gerard finally breaks his own confused silence when Frank grabs his arms and tries to turn him bodily around. "Frank, I'm sorry, I didn't –"

"It's all right, I just can't – I can't do this, okay?"

Gerard, vaguely pliant until now, suddenly twists out of his grasp and Frank stops short at the sudden strength of it. "We don't… I'm sorry," Gerard mumbles, his gaze not quite darting up to Frank's face, and Frank's heart is beating so fast, he thinks it might crack his ribs. He's totally at sea. He doesn't even know if _he's_ sorry. "We can, like. Still hang out, right?" Gerard asks and finally settles his gaze on Frank's.

Which. Yeah. They probably can. Frank knows he's fucked this whole thing up himself, he's the cause of it, he's the one who fucking got down on his knees in front of Gerard before he ever even knew his _name_ , but. He fucking _likes_ this guy, he's as cool a person as Frank's going to meet around these parts. He's just – he doesn't –

"Sure. Totally," he nods. He's so aware of being nearly naked, and for a second he thinks he might laugh. What the fuck has happened to his life, anyway? When he looks down, he sees that Gerard is still kind of hard in his pants, watching Frank right back. Frank bites the inside of his cheek and, fighting the urge to cover up, looks away.

"Cool. Okay," Gerard answers and Frank watches him pick up his own bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor earlier. Gerard shoulders it and looks at Frank uncertainly. Frank knows it's up to him when and where they actually ‘hang out', but he doesn't think it can be here and now.

"See you at school, right?" he asks, finally looking him in the eye, and Gerard nods after a beat, then shuffles out without another word. Frank doesn't see him out, but he does watch him and his slumped shoulders through his bedroom window, where Gerard takes the shortcut through the cemetery.

Frank turns away, slides the blinds closed, and fucking _finally_ slips out of his wet briefs. He flops down on top of the covers in sheer relief and then jerks off fast and hard, trying not to think about anything at all.

It doesn't really work, and he spends a pretty embarrassingly long time remembering exactly how it felt to have Gerard's tongue in his mouth, and how it felt to touch it with his own.

*

He has no idea what to expect from the next day. This week has kind of dragged by and simultaneously flown, and it's only fucking Thursday, so there's not even the relief of the weekend to look forward to today. He tries to blend in with the streaming crowds and avoid any of the assholes who love fucking with his life as he walks between classes, which works pretty well until fucking Study Hall. But spit balls and notes with such inventive scribbles like ‘SUCK DICK FAGGOT' and ‘FOR A GOOD TIME OF TAKING IT UP THE ASS CALL FRANK IERO' are a breeze compared with being thrown around the locker room, so whatever, he'll take it.

What has his heart hammering kind of hard, though, is the minute it takes to walk from the classroom in the K building to his locker at J, and he can't even process the disappointment fully before his stomach sinks cold and fast down into his toes. Gerard's not there.

Fuck. Frank hangs down his head and shuffles up to his locker, bumping against the streaming crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe he's running late or something. But in the thirty seconds it takes Frank to grab his lunch and exchange Western Lit for French and Physics, he realizes that Gerard didn't show on purpose. And he probably won't, now, because Frank is a fucking asshole jerk who can't even hold onto a friend for more than three fucking days. What the fuck did he think was going to change, anyway?

He slams the locker closed and scowls his way outside. At least it's a really warm day, with the sun out. He puts on Henry Rollins and closes his eyes, slumping against the oak that's been in the courtyard since the olden times. He doesn't feel like eating, so he lets the birds pick at his lunch.

*

"Frankie, baby, you okay?" his mom asks when he's helping her put dinner together kind of half-assedly, he will admit, shucking ear after ear from her endless supply of corn.

"Whatever," he shrugs, ‘cause whatever. It was like there was a glimmer of hope that life would maybe gain some kind of luster, but that lasted for a full twenty seconds this time before being snatched away. Fucking typical.

"Don't ‘whatever' me, young man," Mom frowns, the knife in her hand stilling high over the carrots she's chopping. Frank eyes it a bit warily. She's got a mean streak on her sometimes that he never knows when to expect. "Is something the matter in school?"

Ha. "You know," he shrugs again, gently setting her hand down so she can start up on the carrots and stop scaring him with that knife. "The usual, I guess." He shucks the corn with extra relish this time, getting all the little damp hairs stuck around his fingers and trying to wipe them on a dishcloth when they wrap all around his skin and refuse to budge. Gross.

She hums in reply and they continue their vegetable dealings in silence. She breaks it a minute later.

"I heard from Marge Dewees, by the way," she drops airily, like if she does it real casual, Frank won't remember what it was like to have an actual friend and how much it fucking sucks that that friend was a goddamn Army brat that Frank hasn't seen in nearly six months now. He keeps shucking the corn. "She says they're settling down in Houston all right, but Jimmy's having a bit of a hard time adjusting with the local kids."

No fucking kidding. Probably not a lot of call for vaguely faggoty stoner dudes down at a Houston army base, Frank figures. Then he randomly thinks about how Jimmy had taught him all about the art of the cotton-mouth blowjob and the proper application of eyeliner without random eyeball stabbings. Man, Frank fucking misses that kid.

"Do you ever write to him, Frankie?" She's prying. She fucking knows. Probably not about the occasional blowjobs or the pot or the booze, but the stupid whine in Frank's chest getting worse and worse every time he sees the happy-go-lucky 2.5 kid, white-picket-fence family breezing in and out of the Dewees's old house up the street.

"Yeah, sometimes." He'll email Jimmy a YouTube video sometimes and sometimes he'll get an .mp3 of a really good Cure cover or whatever back, but it's just not the same over the internet. And now he's got no one to smoke up with, either, which is a shame because he loves getting stoned, and he fucking hates doing it alone.

"Well, that's good," she says, nodding beside him. "You don't want to lose that kind of friendship."

Frank tears off another husk off another ear of corn and tries to score it across the kitchen right into the trash. He totally fails, of course, and gets a whole other kind of frown in return. He wants to burn through a whole fucking carton of cigarettes, seriously.

*

"Hey, Frank."

Frank's heart leaps into his throat, but he swallows the lump down and shrugs all cool and nonchalant, tugging his locker open.

"Hey, Gerard. What's up?" _Where were you yesterday?_ , he wants to ask, but he's not a girl, whatever. None of his business. Maybe Gerard is a fucking middle-of-the-moon-cycle werewolf, who the fuck knows. Maybe he's a mutant who needed to recharge. Maybe he was just busy.

Gerard runs a hand through his snarled-up hair, which looks and smells a whole lot cleaner today than it's ever done so far, and shrugs. "Lunch?"

So, it sounds like a routine now, maybe. Which is just fine with Frank. He definitely doesn't want to ask about the hiccup in the routine yesterday, so he hits the "reset" button on his brain that magically erases things like worry and resentment and shit, and smiles a real big smile when he finally turns to look Gerard in the eye. "Awesome."

When Gerard smiles right back, kind of unslumping around his shoulders and entire spine, Frank's stomach buzzes like it didn't get the "no feelings" memo from his brain.

Lunch. Right. Okay.

*

Frank's almost through the gates of the school and closer to freedom when he hears a stomping of feet behind him that's definitely headed in his direction, and steels himself. Jesus fucking Christ, don't those assholes have anything better to do? But the hit he's expecting doesn't come, and all he sees out of his periphery is a slouchy figure that transforms into Gerard when Frank turns to look.

Gerard gives him a shy smile, his bag almost sliding off his shoulder. "Hey."

Frank ignores the jump in his belly and nods at him. "Yo."

"So, like, do you like horror?"

Frank fucking loves horror, as long as it's got no fucking Wolfman, but he's got no idea why the non-sequitor. "Duh. Why?"

"Well, just, Mikey and me are having, like, a marathon? Like a reward for getting through the week and crap, so I thought – I mean – wanna come over? We're getting pizza and Mikey's got a quart of vodka, I think. We could make screwdrivers."

Frank stopped really paying attention somewhere in the middle, because even just the first part of that sounded so desperately like exactly what he wanted to be doing with his life tonight. Wow, shit, fuck, he is so fucking _screwed._ For a long moment, he can feel himself just staring at Gerard.

"Uh, I mean, yeah, it sounds pretty lame, huh," Gerard mumbles, dropping his head forward and kicking at the pebbles in the gravel. "Whatever, I guess, see you Monday."

"Wait, no! I mean." Frank stops and drops the hand he hadn't even realized had grabbed at Gerard's jacket. Whoops. "I really want to, man, it sounds awesome," he says, firmly wrapping his hand around the strap of his bag and keeping it there. "Just. Let me ask my mom?" God, he is so fucking _lame_ , but she knows he doesn't go anywhere on the weekends without telling her.

Gerard's face clears and his cheeks kind of pink up, in that way that brings back, in full Technicolor, how he'd looked last week. It feels like a million years ago. It always does, with the change. Gerard just nods and watches Frank expectantly.

Oh, right. He's calling his mom.

He digs out his cell and speed-dials the last-called number. Seriously, he is goddamn lame. While it's ringing, he tries to act a lot cooler than he feels, and it's stupidly awkward, just standing there in the middle of the fucking school sidewalk, with Gerard fiddling with his own bag strap and occasionally catching Frank's eye and looking away again. Maybe Frank shouldn't actually be worrying about his own lameness.

His mom asks him a few pointed questions, then says, "Okay, Frankie. Where does this Gerard live?"

"Uh, hang on. Gerard? What's your address?"

Gerard's eyes widen like he never in a million years expected the question. "Oh! Right. Uh, we're at 70 Maple Ave, it's, like, right across from that pizza place? With the gangsters on the wall?"

Frank grins and repeats, "70 Maple."

"Okay. I don't know if I can pick you up tonight, though, I'm pretty tired, baby."

"That's all right, I'll get a bus or walk or something."

"Not too late, all right? Call me if anything comes up. Have fun, honey." She adds that last bit like it's no big, but he can hear her being just a little wobbly under all that mom bravado. He mentally rolls his eyes and tells her, "Sure, thanks, Mom."

"Cool!" Gerard says as soon as Frank's flipped the phone shut. "It's not, like, a long walk, I don't think. You mind?"

Frank doesn't even give a fuck. He feels like a real fucking teenager for once, and suppresses everything in his brain that's screaming at him that he's anything but.

*

The first thing that hits Frank when they walk through Gerard's door is all the smoke. Whoa, holy crap. The entire house is dark and hazy with it, even though it looked like a totally normal house from the outside.

Then, he notices a whole lot of potpourri, and past all the haze and the dark and dead flowers, there is an entire cabinet-full of creepy dolls. Frank goes through a quick moment of regret in even coming over, because he maybe hasn't heard of any newcomer serial killers in the area, but that doesn't mean they're not biding their time.

But when he turns back to look at Gerard, who's just throwing the lock shut, he relaxes at his sheepish expression.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about the dolls and shit. My mom has this, like, thing for doll collections. I dunno." Gerard shrugs, looking supremely embarrassed, and Frank cracks up.

"Dude, whatever, it's awesome. I mean, creepy, but what am I here for, right? This is, like, a preview."

Gerard's face kind of clears at that and he smiles back. "Cool, okay. I'm down in the basement, and I think Mikey's probably almost home."

Frank follows him through a quick maze of dark, but doll-free hallways and wonders if anybody else is home. Gerard hasn't mentioned his family's, like, make-up, and so far all Frank knows is there's a kid brother named Mikey, a creepy-doll collecting mom, and an artist grandma.

"So, is it you guys and your mom?" He doesn't mean to ask it like it's fact, it's just Frank's kind of used to having to deal with a single parental figure on a regular basis.

Gerard's shoulders twitch in a shrug as they descend the basement stairs. "My dad, too, he's off on a business trip, and my grandparents are down the street, but they're over here a lot, so."

"Cool." It does sound cool. Gerard's got a whole, well, family. Which Frank does, too – not like his dad is so far away. But he doesn't see him as often as he'd like, and Melanie's nice, but she's no Frank's mom.

If the upstairs looked like something out of a Tom Waits song, the basement looks exactly like what Frank might have predicted, had he actually thought about it. It's a pig sty, with, like, sketch pads and dirty clothes and pens and markers strewn everywhere, and it smells really kind of bad. A damp-looking towel hangs over a chair (Frank _thinks_ it might be a chair) and it gives off a similar smell that Gerard's hair did this morning. Frank bites his lip to keep from laughing, because wow, his mom would have him hanged for this crap. She hates wet towels on furniture, never mind the rest.

Gerard doesn't apologize for the mess like he did for the creepy dolls. He just drops his bag, plops down on his bed, and shoves a bunch of crap down onto the floor, which Frank takes as an invitation to sit in the vacated space. Which he does kind of gingerly, because who the hell knows what's still on the bed. The basement's got a tiny window in one wall, but the sun's pretty much setting, leaving the room vaguely dark.

"So, you guys didn't just move here, right?" Frank asks, settling back against the wall, because it looks like this room's been in this state for a while. It's kind of cool and lived-in, though, and he can tell Gerard's more relaxed in here than he ever is at school.

Gerard chews on his thumbnail as he answers. "Yeah, it's, like, a family home? My mom grew up here, and then bought it from my grandma when it got too much for them to, like, take care of it. So, I grew up here."

"Huh. Cool," he says.

Yeah, this is not _Frank's_ basement. He looks around again, mindlessly rubbing the bedclothes on Gerard's bed, and feels a knot form itself in the pit of his stomach. It's not the creepy dolls, either, it's more like, what the fuck is he doing here? This is great and all, but why is he venturing down this lane, when he knows exactly how it ends?

He tries to brush the anxiety off, and almost manages to while Gerard rummages around his bedside table, grabbing a pack of smokes and a lighter, and then there's some kind of stumbling down the stairs and a skinny kid with epically bad scene hair enters the room and freezes when he spots Frank.

For a split-second, their eyes meet and Frank thinks it's painfully obvious that Frank isn't just another high school kid, but he realizes it's ridiculous, he doesn't exactly have "I'm a werewolf, ask me how I can have you for dinner" stamped on his chest or forehead or anything. And then there's more stumbling, and raised voices as two other guys follow close on the skinny kid's heels.

Gerard's sitting up and breaking into a smile in an instant. "Mikey, dude, you brought ‘em! Awesome!" His socked feet are nudging Frank's thigh and Frank moves his legs without even thinking about it.

Mikey is the skinny kid, he gathers, and he does kind of look like Gerard – if Gerard spent a few months on a hunger strike and tried and failed to bleach streaks into his hair. Mikey throws a lopsided, pursed grin in Frank's direction, and Frank nods, not knowing what to say yet.

"Yeah," Mikey finally says, and whoa, his voice is deeper than Frank would have expected. It's kind of cool. "Picked them up at Dellario's. They're paying for pizza."

"Like fuck we are, Mikeyway," says the tall blond dude, nudging his way past Mikey and plopping down onto the floor, back up against the bed. "I'm Bob," he tells Frank, craning his neck and actually, like, extending his hand for a shake.

"Uh, I'm Frank," Frank answers, shaking the dude's hand. "Good to meet you."

The other kid brays a high-pitched kind of laugh and shakes his head. His hair is a massive crazy mop on top and all over his head, and it shakes as he laughs and lowers himself down next to Bob. "You're such a fucking gentleman, Bryar. Hey," he says, turning up to Frank. "I'm Ray. You don't have to shake my hand, it's cool."

Frank shrugs but plays along, clutching Gerard's comforter in his sweaty fist. "Sounds good."

Mikey is already putting a DVD into the player, kind of ignoring everybody else. Frank looks over at where Gerard has shaken out the smokes and winds up throwing him a hopeful look without even meaning to. Gerard just gives him a small smile along with the cigarette, and for just one moment, it feels like Frank and he are the only people in the room. Frank's fingers brush Gerard's and he inadvertently smiles back at that nudge. Gerard hands him a lighter and Frank clicks it into life, inhaling deeply. The knot in his stomach is not so much loosening as changing shape, maybe. He's pretty set on ignoring it.

"So, what's on the menu?" Bob asks, picking around the floor with some purpose, apparently, because he comes out with a crumpled and stained _Angelina's Pizza_ menu.

"Pepperoni," Ray immediately pipes up, as Mikey says, "Sausage."

"Cheese," Gerard counters. "Frank's vegetarian."

Ray throws him a startled look, but Frank only notices out of the corner of his eye, because he's too busy looking at Gerard and trying to find his voice somewhere. "Oh, dude, that's fine, I don't – I can, like, get something else."

Gerard just shrugs, his smoke dangling from the corner of his mouth. "I want cheese, too, and Mikey likes it. Right, Mikey?"

Mikey shrugs eloquently and squeezes himself into the narrow space between Gerard and the bedside table. Gerard shifts around to give him more room, which brings his toes right back to Frank's thigh. Frank forgets to move away. "Whatever," Mikey says. "I'll eat pineapple, though."

Everybody else groans and mock-barfs.

"Fine, cheese it is," Bob says after Frank's stomach has stopped turning at the pineapple thought. "Toro, split the wings?"

Ray high-fives him and settles back against the bed, mollified. Frank looks at Gerard out of the corner of his eye and pretends not to see him watching Frank back from under his bangs.

*

The booze doesn't come out until after the pizza gets delivered. Frank tries to hand either Gerard or Mikey some cash, which admittedly isn't much, but Gerard just waves him off and Mikey pretends he didn't see it at all. Ray and Bob are too busy fighting over the wings to accept his cash. Frank stuffs it back in his pocket and grumbles, "Fine. Next time, I'm bringing pot and we'll call it even."

Gerard's eyes grow huge and Mikey's eyebrow quirks up. "Dude, deal," he says and raises his hand for a fist-bump. Frank cracks up and bumps him back. What a weirdo, he thinks, smiling.

Orange juice materializes from somewhere, and soon enough, Frank is carefully sniffing the drink in his red Solo cup. Mikey went pretty heavy on the vodka and light on the mixer, but Frank isn't gonna complain, even though it's pretty gross to be drinking warm vodka mixed in with even warmer OJ.

It hits him pretty soon after _The Piranha_ credits begin to roll over the bloody water, because apparently, when Gerard said "horror," he'd meant "70's horror-lite," which is just fine with Frank. He's too busy blinking at how fast the fucking vodka is getting to him, but of course, his tolerance is for shit now. He and Jimmy used to drink a whole lot of PBR, which is piss water in the best of circumstances. Frank can never score any booze himself, because he looks about twelve, but Jimmy always managed to charm his way into shifty clerks selling him shit on the sly. And he always looked older.

"Dude, that chick get eaten yet?" Mikey asks through the pizza slice hanging from his mouth.

"I think so, the water's all red," Gerard answers, and from somewhere around their feet, Bob's quiet voice pops up. "Assholes, are you not paying attention? It's been, like, five minutes, what the fuck are you doing up there, cuddling?"

Frank snorts into his drink. Gerard and Mikey _are_ kind of cuddling, in a totally oblivious way. But Gerard's toes are also kind of busy digging a dent in Frank's thigh at the same time, and he's sweating all down that side, trying stupidly hard not to move away and make it obvious, or move even closer and make it even more obvious. He's stuck in some tug-of-war land where his every instinct battles his higher senses. He chugs the drink down faster than he probably should, but pretty soon, he's feeling a lot calmer.

And buzzier.

The movie is ridiculous and boring, but also kind of hilarious. "This movie is fucking ridiculous," he says. "And boring. But, like, hilarious."

Gerard giggles next to him. "I know, right? It's like the decided to take _Jaws_ and get rid of, like, all the tension and Richard Dreyfuss and shit."

Ray reaches back and swats at Gerard's toes, hitting Frank's thigh in the process. "Shut the fuck up, assholes, I'm watching."

"Well, it fucking sucks, let's change it." Gerard swats Ray's hand back with his toes and then moves his feet until he's cross-legged. Frank's thigh practically vibrates with the retreat of pressure. "Didn't you have another DVD, Mikey?"

Mikey shrugs. "I thought this looked cooler than it is. I'll change it." He clambers up off the bed and steps on, like, every available body part Bob has to offer, causing Bob to curse at him, and Frank to snort at them both. He catches Gerard's eye totally by accident, and his stomach rolls uncomfortably at the way Gerard's eyes shift in the blue of the TV. Frank picks his cup back from between his legs and chugs a disgusting warm sip of it as his eyes water.

Mikey winds up sitting down next to Frank after he's put in the DVD, and Frank zones out on the warmth and the comfort of the familiar scenes on the screen and the vodka, too. He's vaguely aware of shifting bodies as the DVD menu clicks into life, but he doesn't really feel anything much until Bob and Ray begin some sort of an argument that winds up with Bob tugging on Ray's hair so much, Ray yelps and hits the bed with his head so hard, he kind of wakes Frank out of his mollified stupor.

"Fuck you, Bob, that's fighting dirty!"

"It's fighting pretty clean, if your opinion is so stupid."

"That doesn't even make any fucking _sense_!"

When Frank looks over at Gerard, Gerard is actually just a few inches away, somehow having made himself comfortable right next to Frank, and his knee's been digging a hole in Frank's thigh for a while. Frank becomes aware of that, as well as how close Gerard is, and how restless his fingers are next to Frank's hand, like he's drawing without a pen and paper. Frank attempts to sit up and move away, but Mikey's got him planted pretty firmly between the two of them and Frank can only try to ignore how much of Gerard he can smell and focus on the screen.

Where a wolf is busy howling at the fucking moon and everything in him recoils at once. He jerks up and looks around, and everybody is just busy staring at the screen, just as zoned out as he himself had been, like, only ten seconds ago.

He looks back at the screen and feels his jaw lock up tight. How – how can they all just sit there, _watching_ this, like it's no big deal at all? His skin prickles with the sudden heat of panic, and he jerks his hand at the feel of Gerard's fingers brushing his own, tentatively but with some definite purpose. Frank is up and moving before he can even think about it.

Bob and Ray both look up at him as he almost falls onto the floor, and the brothers are both watching him, even Mikey shocked into a gaze as big as Gerard's.

"Frank?" It's Ray who asks, but Frank can see it reflected on Gerard's face, too, and he feels himself making an apologetic face. He just. He can't. He _can't_ , what was he even _thinking?_

"Uh, sorry, I gotta run, actually? My mom, and – yeah, sorry, I'll, uh, I'll see you on Monday, Gerard," he babbles, too loudly, then looks around for his bag in a panic until he spots and shoulders it. "Bye!"

He doesn't wait for a reply, just legs it out of there as fast as he can. Which isn't fast at all, because his tolerance is shot all to hell, so he stumbles against the walls of the stairs and loses his way in the short maze of dark hallways. He's got no idea what time it is, even though it's probably not even late at all, or how he's going to get home, even though he doesn't actually care, but he knows that he can't stay there in the stale smoke, with the guys who in another life could totally have become his friends, but never will now, because Frank's life is for shit.

*

Gerard finds him on Monday despite Frank's best attempts at hiding. After his shitty-ass weekend filled with continuous and humiliating replays of Things He Could Have Done Differently On Friday Night, Frank wants nothing more than to be left alone, but there Gerard is, sitting cozy by Frank's closet.

Frank curses under his breath and slows to a crawl, but it's only a few steps to bring him up to Gerard, slumped against the closet door, sketchpad looking abandoned on his lap.

Gerard just watches him and doesn't make any attempts to get up or anything. Frank has no idea what he wants – to demand what the fuck happened, to tell Frank he's a hopeless loser, or what?

"What?"

Gerard's eyebrows twitch together and he slowly unfolds, slightly awkward as he clamors up, losing his sketchbook along the way. It's definitely less awkward once he's up, because he's a lot closer now, really too close, and he's looking down at Frank with a concerned look that makes Frank's mom's concerned looks seem disinterested in comparison.

"Why'd you run away?" Gerard asks, and his voice is low and, like, intimate. His breath is kind of sour and warm and Frank feels it scatter down all the way down to his toes. He steps away quickly.

"I didn't fucking run," he shrugs, except he totally fucking did. "I just. I had to get home, that's all."

Gerard's face is a study in cynicism as he chews his lip, but then he shrugs and steps away. "Okay. Wanna have lunch?"

Frank can't help cracking up a bit, because sure, why not. Gerard isn't exactly giving him a choice in the matter, being all up in his space like that. Frank shakes his head as he rattles the lock, his belly roiling in something akin to relief. "C'mon in."

Gerard fumbles to pick up his sketchbook and bag and slips in after Frank. Once they're settled in on the floor, Frank is feeling almost comfortable again, because lunch in this closet is a hell of a lot safer than accidental stripping in his room or drunken almost-slumber parties at Gerard's.

"So, uh, you should, like, pick a movie next time. And we should plan in advance. The guys totally want to have another viewing thing with you, but maybe you could, like, stay?" Gerard is mumbling all of it not at Frank but at his sketchbook, his pencil scratching softly over the page, and Frank freezes.

The closet seems even narrower with another person in there, and hotter, too. His collar is rubbing at his neck and he tugs on it, but it's like trying to loosen iron. He doesn't answer and he can sort of feel the silence extending into a million years, even though it's probably barely even a minute. Gerard doesn't look at him, but Frank can practically see his ears twitching under all that hair.

He knows he has to answer. It's just another get-together, not even a party or anything, what the fuck is the big deal, he tries to tell himself, except that he knows. And Gerard doesn't.

And then he thinks back to his weekend of lying around on his bed, watching the ceiling fan swirl and counting the shadows, fucking around on his guitar and avoiding his mom's questioning looks. And he thinks about all the past weekends, too, the ones where he'd done all his homework out of desperation, and trolled through every porn site he could find until he reached what felt like _the end of the internet_. And he fucking hates those porn sites.

"Sure, I'll, uhm. I'll think about it," he finally answers.

Gerard just nods, and in the shadows of their space, Frank spots the tiny way in which Gerard's lips lift at his answer.


	2. Second Moon

Frank wakes up in the middle of the night with an itch, like he spent half the night rubbing himself on asphalt or something, except that when he opens his eyes, he realizes that it's still dark and he's still in his bed, the itch turns into what it actually is, which is a giant boner. He stills and belatedly realizes that he's been humping the shit out of his pillow.

"Fuck." It's excruciating how much he needs to get off, it's like he's twelve all over again, except this time, he hasn't actually come yet.

Before he can even think about it, he rolls over onto his back, strips his underwear down to his thighs, and goes to fucking town. It really doesn't take that long, but it leaves him panting and not quite as mellow as he'd like. When he glances over at the bedside table, his clock reads 3:14.

Even as he's looking at the time, his dick starts to harden in his hand, and he looks at it with a certain degree of disbelief.

"You wanna go again?" he says under his breath. "All right, let's go again."

It feels even better this time, his fingers already covered in come. It takes a bit longer this time, too, long enough that his brain starts rifling through the Fantasy Rolodex in his head. It goes through random dicks he's seen online, to the way Dewees used to bite his lip when Frank would blow or jack him, and lands on the memory of Gerard's crotch in front of his face, dick dark and huge, throbbing in Frank's mouth, _fuck._

" _Fuck_ ," he whispers, trying to move past it, find a less shaky ground, but his dick is having none of it, and it revs up at the memory, the whole thing setting Frank's skin on fire. Something whines inside his chest, and he can't hold it off anymore, not even a little bit. He barely manages not to make any real noise as he comes so hard, it hits him in the chest and even lands a little on his chin. "Oh, fuck," he exhales.

He wipes the entire mess off his hands with the bottom of his shirt, then strips it off carefully and swipes at his chin before throwing the shirt to the ground. He didn't need it anyway, his room is stifling hot. Did Mom forget to lower the thermostat for the night, or what?

Frank wants to just roll over and go to sleep, but he can't, he's stupidly awake now, feeling like every brain cell is firing at warp speed. He kicks at the covers until they fall to the floor in a heap, then turns over to face the wall. The peeling edge of his Black Flag poster watches him back with the same dark shadowy lines as always.

He sighs and rolls out of bed, feet almost getting caught in his comforter. He pads into the kitchen, gets himself a glass of water, and drinks it while drumming his fingers on the plastic counters. He's almost giddy, even though there's no reason in the world for him to be giddy, especially not at ass o'clock in the morning, but it's a bubbling kind of _something_ in his stomach that he can't quite pinpoint. It's fucking irritating. He just wants to sleep the night away.

Before he goes back to bed, he does check the thermostat, but it's been lowered as usual. Sixty degrees should not feel this muggy.

It takes him almost a full hour of tossing, turning, and cursing, to fall back the fuck asleep, and he has to jerk off a third time in order to do it, anyway.

*

School is too fucking loud. Everywhere, people are jostling him side to side, and he vaguely remembers the promise of smaller classes and a better learning environment from the interview he and his mom had gone to, but it sure as shit doesn't feel smaller than his middle school in here, it feels ten times as crowded, and the walls feel that much closer in.

He nearly growls at the freshman who bumps into him right in front of his locker, and it's strangely satisfying to see the kid scurry away as quick as a bunny.

He goes through the morning feeling like he's running a fever, even though nothing aches, precisely. It's just a focused sort of irritation, the kind he can't do anything about but that affects everything around him. He's pissed at his teachers for being slow, he's pissed at his classmates for being tools, he's pissed at himself for being pissed. His skin zaps every time he touches anything, and he tied his tie too fucking tight this morning. What fucking _gives_?

It isn't until he makes the trek from math to his locker, when a familiar smell invades his senses and he spots Gerard doing his casual slouchy lean against Frank's locker that it fucking hits him like a ton of idiotic bricks.

"Oh, shit." He says it out loud because he is _that_ much of an idiot, but of fucking _course_. It's been over three weeks since the last change. The moon is waxing. He's a fucking _moron._

Before Frank can run away and beat one out in the bathroom, because even the smell of Gerard is enough to get his pants tighter, Gerard spots Frank and smiles. Frank immediately gets caught in a panicked loop for about half a minute where he just thinks things like "shit!" and "dammit!" and "fuck me, please, please just fucking _touch_ me," and then he's right in front of Gerard again, unable to even open his mouth. He's pretty sure he looks like an idiot. An idiot with a giant hard-on.

"Frankie, you all right?" Gerard pushes away from the locker and leans closer in. A lot closer than Frank is fucking comfortable with, both because Gerard's scent is so much sharper now, fucking _heady_ , and because there are jocks still milling about the halls, looking for fags to beat up, no doubt.

Frank steps back, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu, and opens his mouth to say that he's fine, but instead, a sort of whine escapes and he clamps down his mouth before he can do anything else that will embarrass him for the rest of days. His heart is beating so hard he thinks everybody within a mile radius can hear it, and for a moment, he doesn't understand how Gerard hasn't been thrown ten feet back by the sheer force of it. But Gerard is still there, still watching, though his expression's less concerned now, and a lot more confused.

Frank swallows against his dry throat, then turns on his heel and legs it the fuck out of there. He can't, he _can't_. He did last time because he didn't _know_ , he couldn't _think._ Right now, he is more or less in control of his faculties, he can make his body see fucking _sense_ , and he needs to fucking get away from Gerard, right fucking now.

Except that he actually can't, because Gerard is following him, Frank can fucking smell it. He can smell all of it now, as if Gerard's emotions are being transmuted directly into Frank's brain. The fear, the excitement, the worry, _everything._ Frank's fast, but the assholes in the hallways are impeding his movements, and Gerard is still hot on his heels. It doesn't take a fucking werewolf to hear his messenger bag beating against his leg or his out-of-shape breathing, either.

Frank ducks under a stairwell. Maybe he's safe for now, and once Gerard passes, he'll just lock himself in his closet, not let him in. The next second, a shadow falls at Frank's feet, and when he looks up, Gerard is staring at him through his bangs. He's hanging onto the staircase over his head with one hand and watching him, Frank feels like he's going to pop out of his skin. Gerard meets his gaze and there's little concern there, anymore. Frank can smell it – Gerard is hard.

 _Fine._

He doesn't know how Gerard knows, but he doesn't give a shit right now, either. Frank shakes out his head, palms his dick in one quick motion, just to ease up the pressure a bit, and marches back out into the hallway without giving Gerard another glance. The crowds have mostly thinned out, and his steps echo deliberately over the walls. He can hear Gerard shuffling behind him. Frank tries to take it slow, tries to walk as casually as possible, but he knows he's basically limping with how hard he is, and how much he just needs to _fuck._ The idea of doing _anything_ with Gerard is stoking a fire in his belly – he can't stop picturing it, he can't stop _feeling it._

By the time he makes it to his corner of East Wing and rattles open the crappy-ass lock of his closet, Gerard is so close behind him, Frank can feel the heat of his body through both their shirts. He feels a drop of sweat sliding down his spine and jerks open the door.

"Get in," he says.

*

The one concession he makes is he doesn't let Gerard talk, not even for a second. Instead, once they're through the door, he throws his full weight, pulled in by his throbbing dick, against Gerard and barely manages to slide the hook on the door into its place. Then he hesitates only a moment before leaning in and crushing his mouth to Gerard's, pinning him to the door, because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about the taste of Gerard's mouth.

The sound Gerard makes travels directly from Frank's throat down to his fucking _toes_ , and he begins to shake. The zipper of his pants is digging into his dick and he squirms until he's got it shifted aside, and now at least the pain is lessened, but he's throbbing, light-headed, completely filled up and filled in with _Gerard_ , hard against him, kissing the absolute shit out of him.

Frank forgot what kissing felt like, even though his mouth remembers how to move all on its own, and his tongue slides against Gerard's by instinct, and _God_ , Frank has to remember to breathe, he has to, or he will fucking die. His hands begin to hurt with how hard he's clutching the sleeves of Gerard's shirt, the material so thin, it dampens in his fists.

Fuck, _fuck_ , Gerard fucking tastes good. Everything tastes good – his tongue, his lips, his teeth where Frank's tongue slides against them. Frank's dick is trapped between them, and he thinks he might come just like this; probably will, if either he or Gerard touches it with something like intent.

Right now, Gerard is busy clutching Frank's back, though, then sliding his hands up to grip Frank's hair, then sliding back around to his waist, and then again around his back – Frank can't tell the sensations apart anymore, Gerard is touching him _everywhere._ Frank's making noises in the back of his throat that he couldn't even classify if he tried. The darkness of their space is damp with their heat, he can't even see Gerard like this, and for a second, he's stupidly grateful.

Gerard breaks off the kiss and Frank shoves two fingers into his mouth immediately, _don't talk, please, please don't talk._ Gerard sucks them in, just like that, and Jesus, Frank wants his dick in that mouth, the soft wet heat of him. He whines and clamps his mouth to the base of Gerard's neck. It smells like sweat and now, Frank's spit, a combination that makes him flash back to his bed, his pillow, and he ruts against Gerard and feels the door rattle against them.

 _Shit._

He gathers all his strength, slips his fingers out of Gerard's mouth and pushes himself away from him. He can feel Gerard taking a breath to protest, so he shakes his head and shushes him.

"Just…move away from the door, here, come _here_."

Frank tugs on Gerard's sleeve and walks backwards until his back hits a wall and he immediately panics. His stomach recoils at the thought of being backed into a corner, so he sidesteps and fakes Gerard out until he can push _him_ up against the wall, and yeah, _yes_ , this.

Gerard gasps when Frank's hand lands on his dick and his hips thrust forward. Frank bites his lip until it aches and grips Gerard's dick harder through his pants. The noise that Gerard makes at that is fucking gorgeous, but they can't be loud, not in school, not like this. Frank sticks his sticky fingers right back into Gerard's waiting mouth and catches a shadowy glimpse of Gerard's eyes sliding shut, his eyebrows drawing together.

Fuck, Gerard _loves_ this. Fuck. Frank can't fucking wait for Gerard to go down on him.

But right now, all Frank fucking wants in life is to get at Gerard's dick, for real, not just through the pants. His fingers slip and slide and snag when he tries to undo the button and zipper one-handed, but he still slaps Gerard's hands away when he tries to help. Gerard whines and bucks against him, but Frank has a goal, he won't be side-tracked.

It takes him a few excruciating moments but he finally undoes the goddamn zipper of Gerard's pants and fumbles with his shirt-tails until he can slide his fingers inside of Gerard's briefs. He doesn't remember it being this difficult last time, but he had both hands then.

Gerard's waistband snags on his hand and Frank huffs out a breath. "Fuck. Take them off, c'mon," he whispers, and his voice comes out rough and demanding. Wild-eyed, Gerard obeys him immediately, shoving them down and wiggling till they hit his calves. If Frank thought Gerard's scent was strong before, it's nothing compared to _now_ , and he can't fucking help sliding down to his knees to stick his nose right up against Gerard's crotch and just breathe it in.

"Fuck!" Gerard breathes above him, and Frank can't even care about it, he's too busy wrapping one hand around the base of his dick and sucking the head in. He can't help his moan, either.

He fucking loves sucking dick, Jesus Christ. Gerard's got a nice dick, too, and Frank takes as much of it in as he can into his mouth and just _sucks._

Gerard makes a hiccuping _ah_ sound and Frank feels the pinch at his head where Gerard has grabbed all of his hair at once and pulled. He moans at that, too, and maybe pulls his lips away from his teeth, just a little, just in _warning_ , because Gerard is still not the one running this show.

But, fuck, he feels good. Frank clutches Gerard's soft hip with the hand that's not wrapped around his dick, and the contact feels electrifying. For a second, he imagines blue sparks coming out of his fingers if he were to lift them up, like something out of X-Men, if "X" stood for "X-Rated."

He almost laughs at that, but he can't, his mouth is full, and his chest is hollow from not remembering to breathe. He takes in one long breath as he pulls off, then slides back onto Gerard's dick. He can barely find a rhythm, he's probably not making it all that great for Gerard, but he can't stop, either. At least his hand is doing something useful, jacking him off tight and precise.

Maybe his mouth is, too, though, because Gerard's gasping out his name now, almost panicked, and Frank gets the urge to go down deeper. He doesn't want to pull off and lose that taste, he wants Gerard to come in his mouth, wants to taste all of it.

And Gerard does, two seconds later, shaking against Frank's hands, his gasp loud and somehow like a shock to the system. Frank squeezes his fingers around Gerard's thigh and dick, and swallows, relishing the bitterness of it. Even when Gerard's dick starts to soften a little in his mouth, Frank just doesn't want to let go.

The next moment, though, his mouth is empty – Gerard has pushed him off and Frank protests, wants to get back in.

"Fuck, Frank – stop, stop, it's – too much, wait," Gerard whispers and Frank loses his balance, staggering backwards and landing on his ass. He swears at the same time that Gerard does, and between one painful moment and the next, he winds up pinned down on the floor, Gerard's weight over him. His first instinct is to struggle.

"Fuck, what –"

"Shut up, my turn now," Gerard whispers, his voice so fucking shot, it sounds like porn, and his hands are already fumbling for Frank's fly, shaking but accurate.

"Oh, motherfucker, oh fuck, _fuck_." Frank gives up trying to escape. He loses of all of his coherent thought, in fact, because Gerard's hot tight mouth is suddenly on his dick, and it feels so fucking good, a strong wave of regret washes over Frank as he realizes that he's not going to last at all through this. He tries to hold out, but he can't stop himself from thrusting up into Gerard's hot mouth, his hips getting away from him, just for a little bit – just another thrust - _fuck_ , like _that_ , _just_ like that, _yeah_.

Gerard moans loud, the vibrations nearly undoing Frank, then wraps one hand around Frank's dick, pinning him down with his other, and pumps him with a few dizzying tight and slick strokes. Frank whimpers and shoves a fist into his mouth so he can just quit making all this _noise_ , but he can't help it, the sounds are being torn out of him by Gerard's mouth and hand working him over.

Gerard's fingers curl around his belly and it's a moment of rushing free-fall before Frank's slammed head-first into his orgasm. His lungs burn and his toes go numb and his heart beats wildly against his ribcage. He can barely feel the ground beneath him.

But he can feel _her_ , feel the pull of the moon on his skin. The moment before his mind returns to him, he hates the cold certainty of it more than anything.

Gerard is panting quietly over him, still on his knees on the dusty floor, and he doesn't say a word as Frank scrambles up and starts tucking himself away, avoiding looking Gerard in the eye.

But when he finally catches Gerard's uncertain, questioning gaze, he can already feel the gnawing chewing of regret in the back of his brain. He stomps it down before it really starts to eat him whole, and looks away.

*

His mom keeps giving him furtive looks from where she's perched at the kitchen counter, having her tea. _She_ never forgets the lunar calendar, Frank thinks irritably.

He tries to ignore her, but after a while, it's almost suffocating, the way she keeps mothering him from three feet away.

" _What_ , Mom?" he snaps, not taking his eyes away from his textbook.

"Did I say anything?" she says calmly and takes another sip of her tea. Frank sighs. He shouldn't snap at her, it's not her fault. She just needs to stop _worrying_ so goddamn much. It happens every month. Sure, he's an idiot who actually managed to forget what's coming, but he's with it now, and the slow ticking of the kitchen clock is seriously going to be the death of him. Why is he doing his homework here instead of in his room, for fuck's sake?

"I'm going to my room," he declares and shuts his textbook with a thump. "See you later."

"Okay, honey," she answers and he almost throws his book against the wall at the methodical way she keeps drinking her tea. He clenches his teeth so tight they hurt, and practically runs back to his bedroom. It isn't until he's shut the door behind him and actually thrown the book across the room that he remembers why he couldn't study in here.

It smells like fucking _Gerard,_ from when he'd followed Frank home two days ago, wanting to borrow a CD Mikey had apparently pinched from him for good. The room feels saturated with his presence, that two-day-old un-showered smell that hangs around him even if he still smells like soap. Frank bites his lip and crosses the room in two strides to throw open the window.

The cool wind whips his hair around his face a little while he stands there, breathing it in, but it doesn't help the insistent beat of his heart, the way his body feels too full for his tight skin. Shit, it hasn't been this difficult to take in years – not since the first year, in fact.

But he'd been a total kid back then, he's older now, and should maybe bear it easier. But maybe that's something his mom had made up to make him feel better on those long nights leading up to the change, where all he could do was bury his head in her lap and whine from how much it hurt, how panicked he felt, and let her rock him to troubled sleep.

What did she know about this, anyway? None of them had exactly been prepped for "what to do when your child gets bitten by an extraordinary wolf."

Frank really does whine now, a low guttural sound that makes his ears pop. He doesn't bother closing the window, just slides the curtains shut, going for his fly with his other hand.

 _Yes, yes, yes_. The relief that floods through him at the first stroke is like a wave crashing over sand; it leaves him breathless. He pumps his dick, and his hips move on their own to the rhythm, just – just a little more, _just hang on_ , he thinks, _just a little – bit – more_ –

He bites his lip and moans when he comes all over his hand and sags down until his forehead's pressed up against the window screen through the bunched-up curtain. His shoulders shake as the come slowly dries on his fingers and some on the curtain, too, while he tries to get his breath back.

The need only gets worse from there.

*

His phone beeps a message alert at half past midnight.

 _what r u doin_

Frank laughs despite himself and rolls onto his back to reply. The relief fluttering at the edges of his heart is something he tries hard to ignore.

 _sleeping u douche. u?_

He doesn't turn on the light while he waits, because he isn't waiting, exactly. And it doesn't take long, either, Gerard's reply is pretty quick.

 _jerkin off_

Frank snorts through the shock. They're not – they _don't._ What?

 _haha. r u fuckin drunk?_

That's got to be the only explanation. Frank can't imagine Gerard sending actual porny texts to Frank, to _anyone_ , for that matter. Then again, what the hell does Frank know? He chews his lip and keeps his phone in front of him, watching the faded welcome screen for any sign of sarcasm or _psych!_ or _anything._

When it vibrates between his fingers and lights up, he nearly drops it.

 _y. got a qt of vodka 2day yum screw drivers_

Frank laughs and rolls to his side, facing the dark wall. He's completely awake now and really enjoying the way the sheets rub against his bare legs and arms. He snuggles deeper into the covers and hits "reply."

 _not if theyr warm, dude._

He pauses for a second, then types on.

 _still jerkin off?_

After he hits send, he buries his face in his pillow and lets his hand holding the phone fall loose to his side. What is he _doing_ , it's insane. But it's nice and warm under the covers and as he lies there, waiting (hoping) for another message alert, he tries not to think past the moment.

When the phone vibrates again, he reaches for the button automatically and for a second it doesn't make any sense as he watches the time ticking under _Gerard_ , but then he hears Gerard's static-y voice coming tinny through the speaker and lifts the phone to his ear automatically.

" –lo?"

"Gerard?" he whispers in the dark, not sure just how loud he can speak before he wakes up his mom. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, Frankie, just… felt like talking." Gerard's voice is blurry, he really _is_ drunk, and he sounds warm, too. Nobody outside of Frank's family's ever used the nickname. Frank shuts his eyes, realizing they've never actually talked on the phone before. It feels intimate, tucked away in the dark. Frank blinks to clear his vision.

"Yeah? You're dumb, we've got school tomorrow," he says in a kind of stage whisper, testing out the limits.

"Why're you whispering… oh, right, your mom. Dude, you need to, like, soundproof your room or whatever… Isn't your mom's room upstairs?"

Frank snorts and scratches his nose. "Yeah? Right above me, dude."

"You should, you should sleep with a fan on, like, it'll kill the noise, you know?"

Frank rolls his eyes, his stomach clenching a little. "Dude, what the fuck. Why would I want to kill the noise, I'm not actually in the habit of talking to drunk assholes in the middle of the night."

He's so painfully awake and aware of Gerard, even miles away, it's surreal. What is he _doing_ , how did this _happen_?

"Well, I guess that's fair… My basement isn't soundproofed, I'm just kind of … far away from everyone," Gerard slurs and Frank's chest thumps painfully. _His_ basement sure as shit is soundproofed. God, this is absurd. He needs to change the subject. Maybe get off the phone altogether.

"Why the fuck are you calling, weren't you jerking off or something?" he asks, and it catches up with him the very next second, a hot wave rolling all through his body. His skin prickles with the sudden awareness. "Shit," he breathes out without meaning to.

Gerard hums in his ear, and then says, "I was, sorry… I mean, I am… I wanted to, I don't know – fuck, I wanted to suck your cock. Or, like, tell you I wanted to suck your cock, I guess, I can't actually do it like this… Wish I could, been thinking about it." His voice keeps fading in and out, crackling breaths and static noise, and Frank's whole body goes rigid with how much it fucking _wants._

"Jesus, what –"

"You just – you tasted real good when I tried it the first time… I wanna do it again, you know? I'd do it better, now I know what to do," Gerard mumbles and Frank can't even hold onto the thread of his logic, his whole head is, like, pounding. What the fuck?

"Gerard –"

"Tell me you want me to, please, please –" Gerard's voice pitches up higher and Frank's dick throbs, like it's finally caught up with the rest of his body. Frank's hand's on it the next second, quick and too dry, but all he has to do is _squeeze_ , just a quick – "Frank, you do, right? Why would you – I mean, _ah!_ Why would you let me if you didn't want it –"

"Gerard, Gerard, shut – ugh, fuck, shut _up_ -" Frank's out of control, he's burning right the fuck up. His heart is pounding, and his dick feels like it's ten times its size and going to explode, crushing him with it. He doesn't stop moving his hand over it, and his hips are snapping higher and higher up.

"You want me to, I know you do, I just – oh, fuck, Frank, _Frank_ -"

Frank barely picks up on the hitch in Gerard's breath, and then he's coming, just a single moan pushed out of his throat and into the speaker, getting away from him. God, it feels like he comes forever. It doesn't end, pulse after pulse, shuddering and pulsating and he can't take a breath until he's milked the last of it, all smeared on his shirt and over his fingers. He must have kicked the covers off, because his feet are tangled in the edges at the foot of his bed. Gerard is finally quiet on the phone.

Frank licks his dry lips and clenches the phone tighter in his shaking hand. "Fuck me, what the shit."

Gerard doesn't answer for a really long moment; so long, Frank takes the phone away from his ear to make sure the call is still going. It is.

"Gerard? Are you – Gerard?"

"So – sorry, I gotta – shit, I'm gonna puke – aww, fu-"

Then he's gone. Frank stares at the phone in disbelief, then drops it like a hot potato. It bounces on the floor and clatters away.

What the _fuck_ just happened? He wipes his hand on his shirt, then carefully strips it off and throws it to the floor. His skin is prickly with sweat, and goose bumps are rising as he breathes. He watches his stomach rise and fall for a long time before he rolls over and passes out.

He has a text in the morning, sent at 1:44am.

 _sry for leavin pukin is so gross. c u @ school tom_

Frank gets absolutely no clarification from that. Maybe Gerard will have forgotten about the whole thing by lunch time.

*

Frank spends the morning at school vibrating. It's so fucking close now, only two days. The two day mark is somehow always worse than one. The extra day of jittering, of feeling like your skin wants to crawl right off your body; an extra day of hot flashes and that pounding heartbeat, the kind he can't calm down; an extra day of feeling like all he wants in life is to fuck somebody through the floor, stick his dick in somebody's mouth, fuck himself on his own fist. It's interminable; it's unfathomable. He dreads this day every month, and every month it catches up with him, claws at his insides, the wolf so fucking close to taking over.

He grits his teeth and doesn't run to the nearest john during Math, even with Masters staring at him weirdly, like he knows something's up. The way Frank's jittering in place, though, you'd probably have to be dead not to notice. But hey, it's flu season. Maybe if he went to the nurse, he'd get sent home. At least there he could beat it and climb the walls to his heart's content.

With his luck, she'd just make him lie down and then send him right back to class. He can't even think about lying still. He can barely _sit_ still.

His hand flies up completely of its own accord, and he can't take it back now without looking like a lunatic.

"Yes, Mr. Iero?" Masters arches his eyebrow like he's James fucking Bond and Frank grips the edge of his desk tightly.

"Can I have a bathroom pass?"

Somewhere behind Frank, he hears a muffled cough and "jerk-off," and for a split-second, he just wants to lash the fuck out, throw his desk aside and go for the kill, but he's got enough presence of mind that all he does is stare at Masters until he silently extends him the pass, then get the hell out of the stifling classroom before he can change his mind.

He hears Dershowitz making a crack about him finally getting that first woodie, but once he starts to run, he doesn't stop, just lets himself whip through the empty hallways past the bored-looking hall monitors who don't even bother to admonish him, past all the lockers and doors and windows, until he's at the very back of East Wing, breaking into the closet.

*

At first, it doesn't compute – the darkness invaded by a familiar sharp smell; it feels all wrong and sends Frank into a momentary panic. Then he makes out the huddled figure in the corner.

"Frank?" Gerard's voice is high, but muted somehow, like he's mumbling into his knees.

"Gerard, what the –"

"Sorry, I know I'm not, like, supposed to be in here, I just couldn't – I needed to be alone."

Frank is acutely aware of his own heavy breathing and of the way his body is responding to Gerard, every nerve cell waking to awareness. _Fuck._ He licks his dry lips and nods. "It's – fine, I guess. I'm just gonna-"

He makes to turn, but Gerard's voice rings out, almost too loud, but unsure. "No, wait, I just – did I, uh, call you last night? ‘Cause I think I did, but it's, like, it feels unreal. Maybe I dreamt it."

Frank's face flushes. "Uh, I think – I think maybe, but honestly, I was too tired, I don't, uh. I can't remember what we talked about." He wishes he could forget, but there's not a chance in hell of that happening. He's just so fucking relieved that it sounds like Gerard has.

"Oh," Gerard says quietly. "Okay. That's weird, I guess. Sorry?" Gerard, Frank can see now, is sitting at the very back corner, his bag thrown aside. His hair is a crow's nest, Frank can barely make out his face. He smells sleepy and exhausted.

Frank shrugs, trying for casual, his hand still gripping the door. "It's fine, whatever. You can – you can call me whenever, I guess." What? Why did he just say that?

Even in the dark he can make out a flash of Gerard's slow smile before he ducks his head and hides it from view. "Cool. Thanks. You, uh. You, too."

Frank doesn't answer, just grits his teeth. He needs to get the fuck out of here. The point was to get away, and Gerard is too close, too much of what – he's just too much. If he stays here even for another second, Frank will lose his mind, or rip off Gerard's pants, or both.

The idea of staying in _school_ for another second is enough to send him into a fucking frenzy. He throws a quick apology to Mom in his head, and makes the decision.

"Listen, I'm – I'm actually getting sick? So, I'm gonna go and – grab my stuff and take off. I'll see you tomorrow."

Masters gives him another _I know what you did there_ look when Frank rushes back to class and hurries to sit back at his desk, but Frank doesn't even care. He's running hot enough that if he goes to the nurse, she _will_ send him straight home. She better.

*

She does. Frank speed-dials his mom and mumbles his apology while she frets at him and tells him she won't be home before six at the earliest.

"That's fine, I'll just – I don't know." The thing is, he doesn't. He's going out of his mind with a useless kind of energy; he thinks if he got desperate enough, he'd run until he hit, like, Delaware. North Carolina. _Florida._ He has no idea what he's going to do at home, but at least there he's free to look and act like the freak that he is. There, he doesn't have to hold back.

He promises her to start dinner, and then he's off.

His feet pound the pavement, vibrating with the force of it, and his knees whine a little. It's amazing. His bag is an after-thought. It just feels so fucking good out in the fresh air, the freedom of it. Jesus, he wants his clothes off. He wants his clothes off _so bad_ , and that's another thing he can't do at school or when Mom is home.

He feels like laughing, so he does, and he probably looks crazy – he _feels_ crazy – but he doesn't care; he feels like flying.

*

He strips, gets in the shower, and jerks off. Then he scrubs himself clean, and jerks off again. After he comes, he leans against the tiled wall of the tub and pants for a while, letting the hot water stream over him. He only gets out when he feels like can't breathe in the heat anymore.

He uses his mom's absence to walk around naked. It's oddly freeing, getting water from the fridge with his junk hanging out, and he giggles into his glass, feeling even more looney tunes than usual.

He just wants the full moon to hit already, so he can get it over with and start the cycle all over again. It's more suffocating this time around. He doesn't want to think about that, think about it might mean, this shit getting worse, and just uses his momentary freedom as judiciously as he possibly can. He blares Black Flag in the living room, puts his underwear back on, and vacuums the shit out of the house. Mom is always complaining about how easily the light carpet stains and shows up every speck, so he uses up energy getting every single speck out. He even gets down on his knees and picks at the stuff the vacuum won't get because it's an old piece of shit that's been around longer than Frank has and they could probably get a better one, but Mom thinks it's a waste of money while this one is still technically working, even if it's on its last legs.

Frank swears as he crouches and gets rug burn on his knees, and under Henry's screaming, nearly misses the house phone ringing. He barely makes it into the kitchen and blows his bangs out of his face before answering.

"Hello?"

"Frankie? You're home?"

"Dad?" Frank hurries to lean over and shut the kitchen door to mute the music, nearly braining himself on the wall. "What's up?"

"Why aren't you in school?"

Frank can hear cars honking in the background. He wonders where Dad is. "Wasn't, you know…feeling all that great," he answers, wondering if his dad follows the lunar cycle with Mom's vicious attention to detail.

"Is it bad this time around?" His dad lowers his voice on the question, which really answers Frank's. He nods, then laughs at himself, ‘cause Dad can't see. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I don't know. Just – couldn't be there today." Frank breathes into the silence for a while, then hears the static sound of his dad taking a drag of his cigarette. Must be his lunch break, then. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Thought I'd check in with you," Dad replies, sounds a bit stilted, and Frank aches a little with missing him. Sometimes Philly feels thousands of miles away. "Will you be all right? You need anything?"

Dad always asks that. The thing is, Frank isn't sure that he would follow through. Sometimes it's enough just to be asked, though. "Nah, I'll be fine. You know, same old, same old." Jeez, he sounds like his grandpa. "Uh, why'd you call, anyway?" At a time when he knew no one would be home, Frank doesn't add.

"Ah, well. Linda had called, but didn't leave a message. Just wanted to check why, but I guess she's at work, huh?"

Frank can't help laughing a bit. His dad, the master avoider. "Yep. We're fine."

"Well, good. Melanie sends her love, as always."

"Thanks. Her, too," Frank breathes. "We still on for that weekend?" He didn't mean to ask, but it's been ages since he's seen Dad.

"Of course, Frankie," Dad answers, and a knot slowly loosens in Frank's chest. "All right, I'm gonna get back to work. You let me know how you are, okay?"

"Sure, Dad. Thanks," Frank nods and digs his fingernail into the door frame. He doesn't really scratch the paint, but it feels kind of good. "See ya."

"Bye, Frankie." His dad hangs up first, and Frank throws the phone back into the cradle haphazardly, leans his forehead against the wall, counts to ten, then throws the door open again. Maybe he can dust this crap away.

*

He doesn't notice he's got a text until after he's dusted all of the picture frames in the hallway and gone back to the living room to see if there was anything else he could do with his life, or maybe at least the furniture. The CD ends and the air goes dead with the silence. The vibration from his bag is the first sound he hears.

 _you ok?_

Frank shakes his head, but replies despite his better judgment. _ill live_

Gerard's reply is, as always, pretty fast. _was that ill or I'll? ‘cause those are two diff things. fyi, ill is bad_

Frank snorts and sags down onto the carpet. _I WILL live. ur hilarious. still hungover?_

Gerard doesn't reply for a while, long enough that Frank starts to feel antsy for something to do. He can't remember what his mom had planned for dinner, though maybe going to the kitchen will jog his memory. But it's too early to start on that, anyway. Jesus, how long is this day going to be?

He's taking a piss when the next message comes through.

 _eh, ill live. that's ill. i'm fine tho & bored. no art today._

Gerard's always happier when he's got Art, just like Frank's always happier on days with no gym class. It's just the way school goes, though. Frank's missing gym today, and he's overfuckingjoyed.

 _sorry that sucks :/_ he texts back. He thinks about what he could do with his afternoon if Gerard was here, and physically shudders all over at the mere thought. He doesn't know why he even went there, what the fuck.

He doesn't hear from Gerard again, figuring he probably got busted for using his phone in class or something. When he walks around the house and sees that there's nothing else he can clean, the jitters start to return bit by little bit. Frank feels completely caged in, and for a second he flashes back to the physical cage downstairs, the memory of the wolf lashing out against the metal and the walls and the bars.

 _Fuck_ , he hates it when that happens. If he's going to survive this, _live_ this for the rest of his life, he's got to keep the boundaries up. He's not going to become the wolf, he isn't. Not when the moon isn't full, anyway.

Maybe if he can sit still long enough, he can fuck around on the guitar or something. At least that's an outlet.

*

The doorbell startles the shit out of him. His first thought is that he didn't order any pizza. His second thought is to grab the baseball bat they keep in the coat closet, but it's the middle of the day. It's likelier that he'd clobber a Mormon trying to convert him than a polite robber who rings doorbells.

The last person he expects at the door is Gerard, but that is exactly who he sees when he opens it, leaning out with just his head, because he's still in just his underwear.

Frank freezes, clutching the handle. "Uh."

"Hey." Gerard gives him a shy smile from beneath his bangs, and his fingers waggle a wave. He looks better than he did this morning, though still a bit of a mess. "Uh, like. School was _really_ boring, so I cut Bio. How, um, how sick are you?"

Frank blinks, feeling like an idiot. "Not… I mean. Fine, I guess." He can feel the entire imprint of the door against his chest. "I – do you wanna come in?"

This is probably a mistake, he realizes a moment later, when Gerard steps through the doorway and sees Frank fully. Frank automatically shuts the door and locks it, but his mind is reeling, because Gerard is suddenly hard. Frank knows this, can smell it all over him – the nervous, prickling awareness of it. He can hear the beat of Gerard's heart, or maybe that's his own. Jesus Christ, he almost had a handle on it, he thought he could get through the day without this, maybe, but now. _Now._

"Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to barge in on you, were you sleeping?" Gerard stammers, but Frank can barely hear the tumbling words, because he wants him so much, he could fucking cry. For a moment, he just watches Gerard's lips moving, the way one corner tugs up more than its mate, the way his small teeth show, his pink tongue, and then Frank is no longer thinking at all.

Instead, he's grabbing Gerard by the shoulders and reeling him in for a kiss that is barely a kiss, more like an assault on the senses. At least on Frank's senses – he feels like he's drowning in the taste of Gerard's hot mouth on his, their tongues sliding against each other, the all-encompassing smell of Gerard around him. When did kissing become a fucking must for him, he wonders briefly, but gives it up as soon as Gerard's arms wrap around his bare torso.

Gerard moans against him and it sends little currents all down Frank's arms and legs and his entire body is aware of only one thing, which is _Gerard, Gerard, Gerard._

Frank pushes him up against the wall and immediately goes fumbling for his fly, he needs to get at Gerard's dick _so bad._ He's aware of a crashing noise, but he doesn't even turn to look until Gerard reverses the natural order of things and forces Frank back, walking him the two steps back it takes to hit the rail of the stairs. It's the shock that forces him to notice the overturned coat rack, and then Gerard slides to his knees in front of him, his eyes following his hands as he reaches out and yanks down Frank's briefs. Frank sees his dick bob into view with a kind of shock, then flickers his gaze to Gerard's face, pink-cheeked, eyes turned up to Frank's.

"Okay?" he breathes, brushing his hair back with one hand, and before Frank can even think of how to answer, Gerard leans in and licks at the head of Frank's cock, then sucks it in. Warm, wet, _tight_ \- _God_ , Frank can count on one hand the number of times he's been blown, and it never gets less amazing. He grabs Gerard's hair and gasps every time Gerard pulls off and comes back in, taking more and more of Frank's dick into his mouth. His teeth scrape the skin every once in a while, in a way that makes Frank want to growl or lash out, it hurts so fucking _good._

Instead, he squeezes his fingers tighter in Gerard's messy hair, then watches his dick disappear into Gerard's mouth over and over again, slow hot strokes, pushing him so fucking close to the edge, it's maddening. Then Gerard hollows his cheeks and Frank can't even look anymore, squeezing his eyes shut and thudding his head painfully against the rail. _Shit, shit_. He feels the familiar tingle run all the way up his spine and all through his skin, that stunning rush of _now, now, now_.

Gerard pulls off at his urging, but Frank still doesn't stop himself in time. He comes hard, hands still tangled around Gerard's hair, his whole body feeling like it's been lit on fire. He trembles for a small eternity.

When he comes down and opens his eyes, Gerard is still on his knees in front of him, watching Frank with one hand still wrapped around Frank's dick, come dripping off his mouth and chin. Frank groans and lets his head fall back, his breath coming in hot and stuttered. Jesus, they shouldn't be doing this, not out _here_. But when he looks back down at Gerard, Gerard is watching him so fucking intensely, and it's like waves after wave of heat hitting Frank like an assault.

Frank grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him up, then kisses him hard, open-mouthed and dirty. They're both covered in his come now, and Frank feels his engines revving right the fuck back up now; he isn't even nearly done.

Gerard is rubbing himself on Frank's hip, and Frank can think only long enough to get out of his briefs altogether, and then he's pulling Gerard down the hall to his room.

They tumble back onto his bed, and Frank doesn't waste anymore fucking time. Shoes and socks come off the next second. Gerard's shirt gets ripped open, his pants are flung, forgotten, to the floor. Frank yanks down his briefs and barely lets Gerard kick them off before he's grabbing Gerard's hips and pulling him up to get better access to his dick. Gerard is _so hard_ , and his smooth dick is almost hot against Frank's tongue. Frank hears Gerard whimpering above him, and he's squirming against Frank's mouth, trying to get more. Frank leans down and licks him again, just _tasting_ it, God, it hasn't even been a day since they did this last, but it feels like _forever._

And yesterday, Gerard hadn't been nearly naked on Frank's bed, wide open for him like this. It's different, and Frank knows he should take his time and do things slow, but maybe in another world. In this room, right here and now, he's grabbing onto the base of Gerard's cock and relishing the strangled noises he makes while Frank sucks in the head and goes down, and down, and _down._

His lips, already tender from Gerard's biting kisses earlier, stretch to the point of pain around Gerard's cock and his mouth gets flooded with taste and texture. His nose is buried in Gerard's smell and he can't fucking get _enough_ of it, of _him_. He can smell exactly how much Gerard wants him, how incredibly turned on he is, and the strangled sounds echoing in his ears are almost too much to bear. Frank loses himself in it all for an amount of time he couldn't calculate if he tried, and the next thing he becomes aware of is an overwhelming need for _more_ , like the moon maybe ratcheted up in her preparations, his blood feels hotter than ever, it's getting _stronger._

He growls at the back of his throat and pulls off. Gerard's flushed from his face down to his exposed chest, and he looks wrecked when he lifts up his head and pins Frank with a dazed look.

"Jesus Christ, why'd you _stop_ ," he pants, and Frank can't even put into words why and _what_ he wants more than anything right now. It filters in that he's been humping the bed the entire time, the only way to keep himself going, and now that all movement's ceased, his dick is killing him.

"I wanna - _fuck_ \- _Gee_ -" He drops his head down to Gerard's crotch and mouths at the juncture of his thigh. It's damp with Gerard's sweat and Frank's breath and he wants to bury his face in it forever and never leave. He can't think straight, he can barely _talk_ , all he fucking wants is more of Gerard's taste on his tongue and his scent all around, so he doesn't ask.

He grabs Gerard's thigh and pulls it over his own shoulder, spreading him open. Gerard makes a squeaking noise above him then stills so completely, Frank can feel his every muscle tense up under his touch. He should say something, maybe warn him, but his nose is leading him where Gerard smells strongest, hottest, and then he's spreading him open with his fingers and licking his asshole. He's never done this before, but he's wondered about it, and now he moans at how fucking _good_ it is. It's almost like a whine in his chest has been silenced, satisfied, _this is what he fucking needs_.

Gerard's voice breaks on a shout and he starts to shake, uncontrollable little spasms against Frank's mouth. Frank moans and keeps licking him right over the tender skin, attempting to pump Gerard's dick with a free hand. Everything is wet and raw and a fucking mess; Gerard's dick slides so easily in his hand, the silky texture of it hot around the hardness, but Frank's too fucking far gone to find a rhythm. Gerard's shaky fingers find his and Frank lets him take over, gripping the backs of Gerard's thighs and pushing them back for better access while Gerard jerks himself off. After that, there's no rhythm or up or down, just smell and Gerard's voice shouting out curses and syllables that make no sense, and then Gerard stills, lets out a strangled groan, and comes, shaking.

Frank pants against his thighs for a moment, then scrambles up to his knees and licks Gerard's dick and hand clean, just to get more taste out of it, just a little more. He's so fucking hard, he could probably pop with just a single touch.

Gerard struggles to sit up, jarring Frank with his bony knees, and grabs Frank's face between his wet hands.

"Frankie, Jesus, _oh my God_ ," he moans, and pulls him in for a rough kiss that tastes like a pure shot of sex. Frank groans and finally goes for his own dick – it shouldn't take much at all. But Gerard reaches it first, pumping him tight and fast from the get-go, and then pushing Frank backwards until Frank's on his back and Gerard's mouth is on his cock again, _oh Jesus._

Frank shouts, eyes clenched till he's seeing stars, and grabs Gerard's head. He's not even trying to be still, instead working his hips forward, fucking Gerard's hot tight mouth, just a little – just a little fucking _bit_ -

"Oh, fuck, _fuck_ -"

Gerard makes a noise at the back of his throat, the vibrations sudden and hard, and Frank buckles, coming so hard, his fingers lose all feeling, and his toes cramp up. He's shaking uncontrollably, even after Gerard's pumped him through the last of it – he can't seem to calm down. He knows this isn't it, not for him. He lies there panting at the ceiling, hearing Gerard's ragged breathing echoing his own on the other side of the bed.

*

His chest aches and he's sore in every single muscle. He's pretty aware of how much his bedroom reeks of sex now, and it takes him a moment, but he makes himself move enough to get out of bed (his legs almost give out when he takes the first step) and open the window as far as it'll go.

The fresh air hits his chest and he takes a deep, painful breath. He can smell the wet ground from here, and the slightly decaying leaves that come with fall.

When he turns around, Gerard is watching him. Frank doesn't have to wonder what he's thinking – he can smell the satisfaction, the pleasure and the desire, too. Fucking hell.

"What?" he asks; it's weird, being watched and wanted openly like that.

Gerard shrugs, his open shirt still stuck to his belly and chest. He should probably look ridiculous, wearing just that and nothing else, but what he actually looks is really fucking hot. Frank hasn't seen him this naked before, and earlier, he barely took the time to look.

Now he watches the way Gerard's soft pale belly rises and falls with his breathing, the way his dick lies there, darker than the rest of him, spent. He's not very hairy at all – he's got some pale hairs thrown around his legs, a thin line down his chest, but he barely has a treasure trail, not like Frank.

Something about him is so open, so unprotected, Frank thinks if he were to change right now, he wouldn't know what to do with this guy – kill him or make him pack. He doesn't even know how it works; just knows it's more dangerous than Gerard could ever know.

Frank realizes he's been staring about ten seconds too late. He shrugs to himself, then pushes away from the window. He should probably get dressed. He reaches over to pluck his underwear from where he'd thrown it on the floor, when Gerard's voice pipes up, hoarse-sounding.

"Don't."

Frank freezes, then straightens back up. "Don't what?"

Gerard struggles to crawl up Frank's bed, silently making room big enough for another person. Frank pretends not to understand while Gerard bites his lip and rakes his gaze over Frank. "Don't get dressed. When's your mom back?"

Frank shrugs again, checking the clock. "Not for a while, why?"

"Just wondering. I can't go home yet, I'm supposed to be working on a group project."

"Oh." Frank realizes he doesn't want Gerard to leave, anyway. Which he absolutely should. He should kick him the fuck out and get on with his life.

Before he knows it, he's crawling back into bed, trying to lie as still as possible while his hip touches Gerard's and all his hair stands on end from the contact.

They're quiet for a while, and Frank is busy keeping his hand as still as possible over his belly, while the other hangs off the side of the bed. He's completely aware of every limb on his bed, of every spot his skin is touching Gerard or the sheets or chilled air. It's excruciating. He wishes Gerard would say something, because Frank sure as hell has no idea what to talk about.

 _Hey, how is your throat from earlier?_

 _How about that sweet ass of yours, is it tender?_

"How did you get all those scars?"

Gerard's voice is so close, Frank physically flinches away and then he stares at the ceiling unable to breathe, like all the wind's been knocked out of him. What the fuck, how did he not expect the question? He's been naked in front of this guy twice now, and he just _forgot._ Through all of the sex and the haze, he's forgotten what he fucking _looks like_ , and the fact of the matter is, he's never been asked it like _that_ before. The jeers of the goons at school were nothing compared the quiet, careful way Gerard just measured his voice and asked.

Frank breathes through what he thinks might be panic-attack-lite, then sits up fast enough that the blood rushes down into his torso and he's left light-headed. "I fall down a lot," he lies, feeling all kinds of stupid, and finally reaches down to grab his underwear again. Where the fuck is his shirt? Oh yeah, he wasn't wearing it to begin with.

"Wait, Frank, I'm sorry." This time, Gerard's voice is a lot less careful and a lot more panicked. Frank stills. He's sitting on the bed naked. He can feel Gerard's heat at his back, but luckily, Gerard isn't making a move to touch him. "Sorry, it's… Sorry."

Frank shrugs. "Whatever." He's still sitting there, though, naked, his dick kind of shriveling up from the cold air of the room.

"Did you say you, uh, had weed?" Gerard asks and Frank's laugh gets away from him, high and unexpected. He turns around and Gerard's got his hair tucked behind his ears, and a shy grin on his face. Frank shakes his head, but answers, anyway.

"Yeah. Why, you wanna?"

Gerard just shrugs, drawing patterns on Frank's sheet.

*

Frank's got a rule about pot and it's that there's no smoking in his mom's house. She's got a nose on her, and even though he's never been busted before, he knows it wouldn't be pretty.

They get dressed, Frank grabs the baggie from the back of his bedside drawer, and they take off down to the cemetery. The dry leaves and branches crack under their feet, and it hits Frank that it's really fall. He hasn't even begun to think about this birthday, but it's just a few weeks away. He's going to be seventeen – too young to do anything with it, old enough to be pissed off about being too young. Not much of a birthday to look forward to.

Gerard is quiet at first, walking a ways behind Frank, like he's worried about upsetting him or whatever, but then he gets past it and starts commenting on everything as they walk.

"This is awesome – I had no idea there was a cemetery here until you showed me. I love cemeteries, they're such a cool way of picturing the past, you know? And, like, they had some weird-ass names sometimes, too," he says. "Oh, shit, look at that, she was born in 1832 and died in 1848, oh man, that's so sad. Maybe it was, like, consumption? She was just, like, hitting her bloom or whatever, and then – boom, dead, cut off at sixteen. Or, or not even, she was a month away from sixteen, shit, wow." He pauses, and Frank is trying to think of what to say to that, when Gerard takes in an excited breath and the words tumble out again. "Do you think it was like a mini-plague, where it hit a lot of people all at once? Or was she like a tragic heroine, dying in her house alone while her friends played in gardens or whatever?"

Frank starts laughing, then turns around when Gerard falls silent. Gerard's ducked his head so Frank can barely see his face, but in the fading darkness, he thinks he see his cheeks darkening. "Gerard?"

"Sorry, I tend to run off at the mouth, I guess. I just, you know." He shrugs, leaning down to pick up a branch and kick away at a bunch of dead leaves on the ground. "Find it cool."

Frank grins and nods. "I think it was a mini-plague. We should look for the other dead kids sometimes."

He finally finds a good, out-of-the-way spot, and settles down onto the ground against a gravestone. It's actually hard to make out the name and date on it, it's so old. Frank pats the spot beside him and shows off the baggie in his hand. "Fun time," he explains.

Gerard shrugs some hair out of his face and throws Frank a grin before settling down next to him. The ground is pretty chilly now, nothing like when the sun is high and beating the grass with its warmth. Somewhere, he can smell leaves burning, and then he starts to burn some leaves of his own. He's not that great at rolling joints – Dewees was the expert in that, as well as other things – but it isn't bad. He's pretty proud of it, in fact.

Gerard doesn't comment on it, just gives Frank another sweet smile before accepting the first hit. Frank looks away before he can beam right back.

"Man," Gerard breathes after he coughs through the inhale. "That's pretty good, huh?"

Frank throws him a rather proud look. "Yep. Dude went away, though. I've gotta find another hook-up," he says and sighs despite himself.

Gerard cocks his head and smiles, passing the roach back. "Was he just a dealer-type dude, or what?"

Frank doesn't get the question at first, and then it dawns on him. He giggles despite himself. "A friend dude. And dealer dude. He was an army brat, so, you know." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand before sucking in more smoke.

"Ah," Gerard replies, nodding. "That sucks, huh?"

Frank coughs a little, then nods. "Yeah, it really does." His voice is already thin and reedy, and it's gotten a little less chilly. Maybe he's getting used to it. Without another prompt, he says, "He was kind of the only friend I had at school, so."

Why'd he say that? Oh, well.

Gerard doesn't wait till Frank hands him the joint, just plucks it from him with freezing fingers. Before he takes a hit, he says, "Yeah, that place isn't so awesome on people, is it?"

Frank snorts. His head is pleasantly heavy. He really loves the smell of burning leaves. "You could say that," he answers. Something occurs to him, and he turns to watch Gerard smoking with his eyes closed. "Hey, how come – you never said. Why'd you transfer your senior year?"

Gerard doesn't answer for a while. It's probably because he's too busy relishing Frank's awesome weed. Finally, he shrugs and extends Frank the joint. "My mom and grandma thought it'd make my chances of getting into art school better, ‘cause this place has a better program than the public school."

Frank frowns. College talk. He hates college talk. "You, uh, you didn't mind?" he asks, rolling the joint between his fingers, feeling where it almost wants to come apart and smoothing it down.

"Guess I did," Gerard says lazily and rubs his head. "Mikey's still at City, which sucks for me, but we can only afford one kid there at a time." He squinches up his face and turns to face Frank. "After I graduate, Mom's already said she's transferring him over."

Frank makes like he gets it, which he kind of does. His mom can barely afford him, and that's only ‘cause Dad helps out. "Cool," he says. Then, "Sorry, I guess. You getting stuck in that fucking place."

Gerard flashes him an immediate and dorky grin. "I'm not. You're cool, right?"

Frank startles into another laugh, his belly kind of hurting. "Yeah, that's me. Mister fucking Cool."

Gerard giggles into his sleeve and pins him with a look. "Yep. ‘S why I like you."

Frank glances down, burying his stupid-ass grin in his jacket. "Whatever," he mumbles and glances up at Gerard, who's still hogging the roach. "Gimme that," he demands gruffly and Gerard hands it over with a smile.

"You're a weirdo," he comments, and Frank freezes for a second, before relaxing.

"I really am," he agrees easily, inhaling the sweet smoke. "But I'm not the one with the Misfits design on my kicks," he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

Gerard sniggers and brushes his fingers over his shoes. "I'll totally do it for you, too," he informs him. "Just get a fucking sharpie."

"Man, that's so cool," Frank says enthusiastically, surprising even himself. Gerard throws him a curious glance. "You know," he elaborates, emphasizing with his hand, smoke trailing in its wake. "You can just, like. Do that. Create shit out of nothing. Does it ever, like – does that run out?"

Gerard frowns. "What do you mean?"

Frank isn't sure, if he's perfectly honest with himself. "I don't know, like… Your well of fucking – creativity, like. You're always drawing. Doodling or whatever, and you never get tired of it?"

Gerard's watching him like he's crazy, and Frank bites his lip. He said something stupid. Shocking. He feels a deep blush coming over him, but Gerard doesn't seem to have noticed, at least. "No, man, it's what I want to be doing, you know? Or, like… I write sometimes? Lyrics, in my head, I don't know, it just – it comes to me, you know?"

Frank nods. This part, he knows, all right. "Yeah, I'm like that with – well, whatever, yeah, forget it. That was – dumb, sorry." He kicks at a pebble at his feet. Then he thinks that was probably an asshole move, he's heard from his mom that Jewish people lay down stones on graves. He probably just kicked at someone's present.

"That wasn't dumb," Gerard says, suddenly closer. "You saying it was dumb was dumb, but the rest wasn't dumb," he adds and Frank turns his head in time to see Gerard give him a huge smile.

"Yeah, well," he says. " _You're_ dumb."

Gerard looks like he's going to explode in a second, and then he does, giggling like he's crazy. Or stoned. Frank covers his own face with his hands and laughs along, the warmth of his breath making him realize just how fucking _cold_ it is out here.

"Your _face_ is dumb," Gerard breathes through the giggles, his face surrounded by smoke and cold air, and Frank's stomach cramps from laughing, like he's run a mile or done a hundred push-ups in a minute. Frank wants to come back at him with _your MOM is dumb_ , but he's run out of air. Then his train of thought leads him to his _own_ mom, and then he's scrambling to look at the time on his phone.

" _Shit!_ "

"What, what?" Gerard jumps. "What is it?"

"My _mom_ ," Frank groans, slapping his face and burning his forehead with the butt of the roach for his troubles. "I gotta get home, fuck, fuck!" He pinches out the joint, tucking it back into the baggie, and is about to scramble up off the ground, when Gerard's hand flies out and lands on his own.

"Frank, wait –"

"Yeah?" Frank realizes he's probably watching Gerard with crazy eyes, but seriously, _his mom._

Gerard leans in and presses his lips against Frank's, just like that. At first, their mouths are like separate spots of smoky warmth, and then when Gerard moves his face a little to the left, and Frank turns his just a little to the right, they're warm together, and then, they're breathing shared smoke and breath and air.

He almost forgets all about his panic, until Gerard gently touches Frank's knee through his jeans as his tongue slips just as gently out to touch Frank's, and then he remembers the whys and whats and the need pounds through him, powerful, overwhelming. He moans and tamps it down, not now, _not now._

After that, he manages to find the will and the strength to push Gerard away despite his every instinct clamoring to climb on top of him and strip him naked. Then they run through the cemetery until they get to his street, and he yells out his goodbye before catching his breath. Her car's not in the driveway and the lights are off. Thank fucking God.

*

He curses his own stupidity as he strips down to the skin and shoves everything, from shirt to socks, into the washing machine. Then he stands in the shower for a while, beating off, and by the time he emerges pink-skinned and shiny and absolutely pot-free, Mom is home already. He can hear her puttering about in her room upstairs, and hangs her purse up on a hook when he walks past it.

He's jittery all through dinner, but she makes him eat every last bite.

"It's bad enough you don't get enough protein," she frowns, watching the chicken on her plate like it'll give her the answers she's looking for. Frank forces down three more bites of spinach before attempting to push it away. "Finish it, Frankie."

He sighs, but obeys. He knows she's right – he needs all the iron he can get before tomorrow night.

She sighs right back, but it sounds so different, coming from her.

*

He can't sleep. No matter what he does, no matter how much he tosses and turns, it won't come, and he finally rips all the sheets away and trudges out into the living room. Maybe the couch will be different. He takes his phone with him, too, just in case.

The couch doesn't help, and neither does the bright moonlight streaming through the gap in their too-narrow-for-the-window curtains. He feels it with his every breath, his very bones. It hurts so bad, he barely stops himself from whimpering out loud. He keeps watching his phone, but it's dark and silent.

He's often wondered why he only changes for one night. The moon's so strong like this, it seems impossible that he wouldn't turn just by looking at her, and Jesus, there are nights, nights like this, when turning is all he fucking wants.

His skin doesn't fit his body the way it should, his legs and arms feel put together completely wrong, and he wants to scream or howl or run, run so fucking far, nobody would ever find him again.

He gasps out loud when he clenches his fists tight enough to make them ache, and the pain reverberates all up his arms and into his shoulders, and then he's rocking through it, a shudder that just leaves him panicked at the thought of more.

He hates this so much, sometimes he has no idea why he even bothers anymore. What's the point? And it's getting worse, he _knows_ it is, it's not just the pain talking. It's never been this strong, not since the first year, or this vivid.

He wants to scream, but muffles it into the cushion underneath him. He can feel where it gets damp with time, and he can't tell anymore whether it's spit or tears or sweat, but he knows it's him, leaking all over, feeling like he's bleeding through his skin. He gives up pretense and cries silently. But maybe he wasn't silent enough, because at some uncertain point in the night, he hears his mother's careful steps, and then she's cradling him against her, gathering up as much of him as she can.

She doesn't say anything, just gently rocks him like when he was a kid, and soothes his hot skin with her hand. Frank grabs her nightgown and hangs onto it until he's floating in a grainy world where there's no sky and there's no ground but there's no pain, either, and then there's nothing at all.

*

The moon is still visible in the blue-grey sky when Frank walks out of the house and trudges to the bus stop, and it sets his teeth on edge. For about a millionth time, he wonders why he even bothers coming to school on full moons. It never goes well. Look what he did last time, sucking a stranger off in the fucking bathroom, for fuck's sake. What the hell is it going to be today?

*

He gets into an out-and-out brawl.

He doesn't mean to – God knows, he's not a good fucking fighter, but damn, sometimes it feels good to let loose. It felt good this time, too – just one word from that asswipe Warner and Frank threw his bag onto the ground and lashed the hell out. Teeth, knees, nails, anything he could get him with, he tried. The fucker was tall, but lanky, and Frank knocked him down flat in record time. Tall guys never saw it coming, but the kind of tall guys that usually went for Frankie were meaty assholes. He has no idea what Warner's fucking problem was, but Frank managed to bend that lanky dick in two and shove him down with enough force to send him sprawling.

He got some good hard knocks himself – he's pretty sure his ribs are at least bruised, which will make the change tonight suck hardcore – and when he looks down at his hands, they're smeared in blood. His tongue slides out and he feels the stinging salty split in his lip.

"Fuck."

He blinks and, when he looks up, sees Warner still spread out on the scuffed linoleum floor, watching Frank back with crazed eyes. His long hair is a rat's nest and his clothes are all rearranged to one side, rumpled and even ripped in parts, but the scariest thing of all is the blood trickling down the side of his face, shiny and obscene and too fucking _real_.

When Frank's tunnel vision clears and all feeling comes back, he realizes that everybody in the hallway is watching him with equally horrified and impressed faces, and somebody else has got him in a pretty strong lock – so strong, he can't move an inch. He shakes his head and his ears pop, all noise returning like he's just emerged from the ocean.

 _What the fuck._

The familiar thrum of _need need need_ pulsates somewhere under the surface, but it's almost satisfied, like lashing out was what Frank had really wanted to do.

Maybe it was.

He curses and shoves until whoever's got him reluctantly lets go with a warning squeeze. "Are you going to behave, Iero?"

Frank turns around. Masters. Fucking _Masters_. How did Frank get so goddamned lucky, huh?

"I'm _fine_ ," he spits, feeling blood trickle thinly down his chin.

"What the _fuck_ , Iero, I wasn't even fucking _talking_ to you!" Warner's voice is almost hysterical and Frank whips around to get another look at him. He's still bloodied up, but he's also still an asshole.

"You fucking – yes, you were, all you assholes are always fucking pushing me around!" he shouts back when he gets enough breath into his lungs, and then watches, rage filling the corners of his vision, as Warner rolls his eyes at him.

"I just fucking wanted you to move out of my goddamn way, I wasn't – Jesus Christ, what the fuck is your _problem_ , seriously?"

Frank growls – actually fucking _growls_ \- and only stops short because Masters physically prevents him moving again.

" _Cool it_ , both of you," Masters barks. Frank has never heard Masters so much as raise his voice. Everybody in the hallway freezes, including Warner's girlfriend, who's just launched herself into the scene by pushing at the gathered crowds and screaming.

"Brian!"

"Quiet!"

This time, it isn't Masters, it's Principal fucking Jackson. The rage Frank felt just a second ago dissipates into cold and clammy fear. His mom's face looms in Frank's mind's eye. He is fucking _done for._ He tries to swallow, but he can't.

"What in the _world_ is _happening_ at this school?" Jackson booms over all of them, and one by one, the crowd trickles just as quietly out, until the only people left are Frank, Warner, his weeping girlfriend, the authority figures, and some hardcore on-lookers who always see this shit through to the bitter end. Frank can feel them watching him from all sides and his heart hammers blood through his entire body, pumping it with despair.

He is a fucking _idiot._

But Warner shouldn't have pushed him.

Once he gets escorted to the Principal's office, catching a quick glimpse of dark dirty hair out of the corner of his eye, that's exactly what he tries to say, but Masters just shoves him onto the bench and tells him to shut up. Warner has been escorted, too, but to the nurse's office. Apparently, Frank's split lip doesn't take precedence over Warner's bloody face or whatever.

He sits there for a long time. He doesn't have his bag, he has no idea where it could be, and for the first time, he doesn't actually care. Masters is still sitting right next to Frank, waiting like he's the one who's in trouble. It's like a really irritating shadow permanently embedded in the corner of his eye. Frank mostly watches his lap, because the two times he looked up, he saw the office secretary watching him distrustfully, so he kept his head down.

After five minutes of nothing, he feels it – that pull. He almost jerks on the spot, and the whiplash of having forgotten is almost stronger than the pull itself. But once he feels it, it doesn't stop, like a fishing line reeling him in. He tries to hold onto the feeling of stillness, of peace, but it slips away like sand through his fingers.

After a moment, he can't even recall what peace might feel like. All he knows, deep down in his bones, is that he can't possibly be expected to just sit there and _wait_. He breaks into a cold sweat at the mere thought, the back of his neck prickling with it. He swipes at his skin, still looking down at his lap, then straightens up and stares past the disapproving secretary at the clock on the wall.

He's got six hours until the sun sets. Six hours of trying to sit still, waiting to be reprimanded, at best, or just getting thrown out on his ass, at worst. Six hours of listening to Masters breathing quietly beside him and Frank doing his level best not to gnaw his own hand off in sheer frustration.

He's ready to cry when the main office door bangs open and Mom strides in, going right up to the startled secretary and introducing herself.

"I'm Linda Iero, I'm here to speak with Principal Jackson about my son."

The secretary punches a button on the intercom, and Frank watches with a kind of mute horror as Mom steps into the Principal's office and the door shuts behind her. It's both a relief that she's here, and also completely terrifying. She didn't even glance in his direction. She could have been pulled out of a meeting because of him. She could be _fired._

 

*

She leaves the Principal's office just as white-faced and grim as she had entered it, but what she says to Jackson, as he's escorting her, is, "I'm glad you understand, Mister Jackson, and I will make sure this doesn't happen again. I appreciate your leniency."

"And I appreciate your understanding, Mrs. Iero," he answers, and Frank can tell how much it's costing him to be polite to Mom. Fucker. And it's _Ms._ , you miserable asshole, Frank thinks.

She turns to Frank, gaze blank. "Frank, let's go."

He looks away as he stands up to leave, trudging past Masters and gnashing his teeth.

The hallway is empty except for –

"Gerard?"

Frank stops and feels his mom freeze beside him. They both spot Frank's grey messenger in Gerard's hands. He's holding it in a way that's making the seam almost give up its last legs, but when Frank reaches for it automatically, Gerard hands the bag over with care. "You, uh. You'd left this, so," he mumbles. "Everything's in there, I checked. I mean. I didn't _check_ , just – nobody had, you know – uhm, nobody touched it, I just –"

It's the stupidest thing, but when their hands touch, Frank feels a shudder run straight up his spine. Then he catches Gerard's eye and knows he'd felt it, too. Jesus, with his _mom_ right there, and him in a shitload of trouble. He hauls the bag over his shoulder. "Thanks, man, I – I really appreciate it."

Gerard nods and shrugs, then throws a quick glance at Frank's mom, like he read Frank's thoughts. "Uh, hi. I'm –"

"Gerard, yes, I realized that, dear. But we really have to go. Frank, you ready?" Mom sounds nice, but Frank knows better. She's a raging storm right now, and it's so unfucking fair.

He shrugs helplessly at Gerard and hurries the hell out of there. He's so not looking forward to the car ride.

*

The ride is short and, as expected, even more painful than the incident in the office had been. Frank can feel her anger, _smell_ it thundering over him, and she barely says a word. But what the hell does she expect him to do? He can't fucking change who he is. She should fucking know that. But she doesn't understand and she never will.

He bites down on his lip and it splits again under the pressure. He gasps, then sucks his bleeding lip in so she doesn't see.

"Are you okay?"

He nods, his eyes tearing up, and clutches the seat tighter. Too many hours of this left, too many fucking hours stuck inside his house, just too fucking _much._

"Fine and fuck – fine and dandy." He winces. There's no excuse for cursing in front of her, and he's going to get it.

" _Frank._ I understand that this is as difficult as it gets," she says through gritted teeth and taking a sharp right so hard, the tires squeal. "But we've talked about this. And this almost cost you your _future_. You are a human being. You cannot go through life taking things out on others."

"I _wasn't_ ," he yells, then forces himself to take a deep breath. "He got in my way. You just. You don't _know_ what it's like, okay? He was –"

"Another human being! I thought I taught you better than that, Frankie," she says, and now she sounds so sad and resigned that he's close to bursting into real, and really embarrassing, tears.

"Mom, _please_ ," he begs. "Can we talk about this another time? Please?"

She glances over at him and the car slows down as if it's psychically connected to Mom's brain. "Okay," she says after a long pause. "We'll talk about it another time."

He looks away and nods. He just has to get through it.

*

He rattles around the house for the rest of the night. He can't force himself to be still. He walks through the living room into the kitchen, looks through every single book on Mom's bookshelves, but it all looks so hopelessly dull, he goes through his own just one more time, hoping something will catch his interest, but he's read them all a thousand times. He turns on the TV, watches twenty seconds of every channel until Mom silently reaches for the Advil, then he jumps up and runs back to his room.

He knows she knows, but he can also feel how fucking worried and disappointed she is right now, and he just can't handle it.

He drags out his guitar, strums a few chords, but nothing sounds right, so he turns up his stereo as high as he's ever allowed to push it and just beats his head against the wall for a while. Nothing is _helping_. The sun is still up, but he can feel the moon reaching its apex, can feel it in his bones and all over his skin. He thinks if he were to look at himself in the mirror, his chest would have a whole shag fucking carpet all over it, his nails already claws, but that's stupid, so he doesn't.

Instead, he goes to take a shower, just to escape his clothes for a while, and beats one out under the hot spray. It barely takes the edge off, but at least it's something.

His mom finally trundles him off downstairs when the sun is nearly set behind the trees out back. She takes the ridiculous robe he sometimes uses so he doesn't have to bother with taking off too many clothes in front of her, kisses him on both cheeks, and grabs his hand.

"Good luck, baby. You'll be okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

It hits Frank that he doesn't actually know what these nights are like for her. She looks tired every morning after, but he's never really paid that much attention. Maybe she calls dad. Maybe she sleeps through it. Maybe she watches infomercials until the sun comes up.

"See you," he echoes and squeezes her fingers.

After that, it's just him and his crap and his loneliness and pain, until the moon hits. He howls through his bones breaking, through their re-setting; he howls through the loss of thought, and then he howls at the outrage of being locked in and locked out, and there's nothing but rage and the naked, raw want of something that the wolf knows is out there for him, something that the wolf can't reach. Something that the wolf can't have.

*

Frank wakes up almost lucid in his own bed. When the bright light hits him, he almost falls out of bed from shock, but his bruised ribs stop him before his brain does. Of course he's not late for school. He isn't _going_ to school today. He feels like shit warmed over, and for the first time in fucking ages, he can't even remember how he got to his bed. His mom must have somehow carried him, but it sure as hell beats him how.

The whirring of his phone shakes him out of his thoughts, and he reaches for it, mostly to shut it the hell up. _Jesus_ , he's in pain. It still surprises him, every time. You would think, after a while, his body would remember the pain, and get used to it, but no. It's a new ride every time. A new painful, horrible ride where knives stab you as you're going through a dank, cold tunnel in the dark. He winces as he finally grabs the phone and brings it to his face.

 _You get suspended?_

Frank can't remember the last time anyone texted him this much. He thumbs a reply that takes way too long.

 _Nah sick again, prob in tmrrow_

He holds the phone in his hand waiting for a reply, and then the light slips away, and so does his phone, and Frank falls back asleep on the next thought.

*

He wakes up again to a muted voice. He vaguely recognizes the cadence of Mom's nearly pissed-off voice – not yet at the full stage, but definitely willing to get there with enough incentive. For a second, he thinks she's on the phone with someone, when he hears the second voice pipe up and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. _Gerard?_

Frank struggles out of his half-dreamy state, and when he's finally fully awake, he can definitely hear a conversation streaming in from the hallway. He just can't make out the _words_.

"Mom?" He doesn't mean to call her, but having no fucking idea what the hell is going on is freaking him right the fuck out. He listens for a reply or at least a break in the conversation, then calls out louder, "Mom!"

She rushes in a few moments later, a concerned and guilty look on her face. Just like always, she's leading with her right hand that lands directly on his forehead. "Are you okay, baby? Do you need anything? I didn't mean to wake you up."

He fends her off as much as he can through the soreness, and shakes his head. "I'm fine. Who's, uh, who's out there?"

Her eyes squint a little, but don't lose the guilty look. "No one, just. Well. It's your friend Gerard." She pauses, and Frank waits, not letting her off the hook. He knows it's mean, he should just tell her to send him away, but he needs more intel first. "He seemed concerned for you, and decided to stop on by. It's two o'clock, I'm not entirely sure why he's already out of school," she adds archly, and Frank cracks up.

"He hates gym. Or physics. Can't remember. Can he come in?"

Mom's face hardens. "No, Frankie, I'm sorry. You've slept for hours now, you are clearly exhausted. I've been trying to tell him that he can call you later, but you need your rest right now."

Frank can't imagine Gerard trying to argue with Frank's mom when she's like this. For a small lady, she can be hugely intimidating. It's kind of endearing, but mostly scary. "What's he been saying?"

She sighs, and puts her hands on her hips. "That he's, like, really worried," she says in a weird voice that Frank thinks might actually be her trying to impersonate Gerard. Frank barely stifles a laugh. "But, Frankie, I'm serious. You need to rest, no excitement right now. I'll call him in, he'll say hello, you'll say goodbye, and then he'll leave. Got it?"

Frank nods, not even sure why he wants to see Gerard right now, when he's like this, except that dude's probably fidgeting in Frank's hallway even as they speak, and it seems stupid not to say hi, at least. When Mom ushers Gerard in, Frank tries to ignore the way his chest loosens a little, but damn, it really is kind of nice to have a friend who's that fucking worried about you. He gives Gerard a small wave. He probably looks like shit, but that works in his favor, pretending to just be sick and all. Gerard looks half-terrified, half-relieved, slouching at the foot of Frank's bed. Frank thinks that his messy hair is probably not a point in his favor with Mom.

"Hey, Frank," Gerard mumbles, while Mom stands imperiously behind him, eyes darting between them, making Frank's palms itchy.

"Hey, Gerard. Uh, Mom? It's okay, he's not staying forever, just –"

She rolls her eyes, but leaves after a moment of hesitating by the door. As soon as she's gone, Gerard visibly unwinds, cracking a tiny smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get you in, like, trouble, or more, I guess, I just thought – well, after – you know…"

Frank barely remembers what happened even a second ago, but it settles over him like a dark cloud as soon as he remembers _yesterday_. Fuck, he's going to be in so much trouble in school. And, as soon as he's over this moon, probably with Mom. He fights through the instant depression and forces a shrug. "Nah, I'm fine. I mean, like, you know. Sick, but – whatever, you know? They just fucking _get_ to me sometimes."

"Warner's an asshole," Gerard says, emphasizing the point with a quick shrug of his shoulder. "He fucking deserved it."

Frank snorts. "He totally did, right? Douchebag."

Gerard beams at him. "It's all over school, how you basically came out of nowhere and creamed him." Gerard fiddles with the strap of his bag, and Frank notices that his hands are covered in paint, and his nails are freshly black again. They'd been chipping two days ago. "Rose is, like, pissed now, I guess? Telling everyone you better watch your back or whatever. Uh, I'm not really sure what the hell that means, but you should probably lay low or something… Maybe. Everyone else kind of thinks you're a badass."

Frank tries to imagine what Rose could possibly do to him that the other goons haven't already, or won't again, and finds that, on the scale of his life, he doesn't actually give a shit. It's kind of cool to be considered a badass, though. "Bring it on, whatever."

"Yeah," Gerard nods. "Yeah, that's what I said." He gives Frank a small smile and a look that goes straight to Frank's belly. Frank can't look away, and he can't stop himself from smiling back. His heartbeat is hollow in his chest; he can count the seconds by its beats.

After five, he finally breaks the gaze and coughs. "Well, my mom's probably –"

"Yeah, I should –"

"Okay, cool."

"Listen –"

"Yeah?"

Gerard actually shifts from foot to foot, and Frank thinks again how ridiculous it is, this weird dichotomy in Gerard, from total dork to unexpected gorgeous guy to shy five year old kid in .06 seconds. Gerard finally draws breath and asks, "Are you grounded? Because of the fight and stuff?"

Frank chews it over. "I don't know." Mom's unexpected sometimes. It's not like she doesn't know the moon does shit to him, and when he was younger, she made a rule that anything he does the day of the full moon, she doesn't count against him. He takes a stab, even though he's got no idea what Gerard's really asking. "Probably not, but it's best not to risk it."

"Right. Okay. I was just thinking – the guys wanted to get together for another movie night, and they were, like, asking about you. Do you think you could get out Friday night?"

Frank bites his lip and tries for an answer that would vaguely satisfy them both. "Let me ask her. I'll text you?"

Gerard smiles and nods. "Cool, okay. Here –" Gerard bends down suddenly and his bag slides over his back, hitting him in the shoulders, before he straightens back out. He's only a foot away from Frank now, and he's holding onto Frank's phone. "This was on the floor," he explains, but all Frank can see is how crazy his hair looks around his pale face, and the bright color of his eyes. It's not until Gerard furrows his eyebrows and steps away that Frank remembers to take the phone.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Gerard shrugs again, then turns on his heel. "Uh, feel better, okay?" he throws over his shoulder, and then Frank can hear his mom's voice calmly saying goodbye, and the door clicking shut.

"Well?" she asks, head and shoulders in his doorway. "Everything all right?"

"Am I grounded?" he asks instead, and immediately curses himself. He'd meant to soften her up first, not just come out with it, Jesus.

She frowns at him, but says, "No, you are not. We still have the deal. However, I do get to approve what you get and do not get to do, all right?"

He nods emphatically, "Totally. Yeah."

She enters the room fully, and crosses her arms over her chest. "Did Gerard invite you to spend time at his house again?"

Jeez, way to make it sound way closer to the mark than Frank is comfortable with. "Yeah, with the guys from last time. They have this, uh, movie night thing they do."

"And when is it?"

"Friday night?"

She frowns again, looking far away and thoughtful, then snaps back to look Frank in the eye. "If you're feeling up to it, you can go. I want you to have a good time, okay?" she adds in a softer voice, and Frank flushes all over.

"Thanks, Mom," he mumbles and does his best to hold her gaze as she comes forward to fuss over him some more. Once she's gotten the covers pulled up, and his empty glass up out of the way (when did he even have water? He can't remember anything after being locked in the basement, at all) she gives him a quick kiss on the forehead and turns to leave, shutting his door carefully behind her.

When he looks at his phone, he sees an unopened text sitting in his Inbox.

 _Wanna hang out Fri night? Movie w the guys at my place_

He grins despite himself and tucks the phone underneath his lamp so it doesn't fall again. Then he snuggles under the covers, wincing only a little at the sensitive spots and bruises all over his torso, and only then wonders why Mom is home at all today. He hopes she didn't take another sick day because of him. She's barely got vacation time left as it is.

*

Rose doesn't come after him the next day he's at school, but that doesn't mean he doesn't twitch just a little every time somebody passes or bumps him in the hallway. And maybe it's just his imagination, but it's like the hallways have opened up – he's not jostled the way he usually is, like he's being given a wide berth. What the shit, are they honestly _avoiding_ him now? The amount of money he wouldn't give for that to be fucking _true._

In an ironic twist of fate, Gerard winds up missing lunch because the idiot got himself detention in Bio for cutting a full week straight. Frank gets a text from him sometime during fourth period that only says _cant make it, cutting up cow eyeballs_ which not only depresses the fuck out of Frank, but also puts him off his lunch for the rest of the day.

 _ur an idiot stop cutting class, jesus,_ he replies, and gets a _YES, mom_ in response. He gets an evil eye from Masters for snickering, but the dude doesn't even make Frank give him his phone. What the fuck.

"Hey, Iero!" a girl's voice calls out when he's about to shuffle into Study Hall with a pretty heavy heart. His stomach jumps and he turns around, expecting a full-on punch to the face, because everybody knows that Rose is one heartbeat away from a full on psychotic episode, but it doesn't come. Instead, a tiny blond girl he's only ever glimpsed in crowded hallways bounds up to him, squinty-eyed, her pony tail swinging.

"What?" he asks, totally at sea. How does she even know his name?

"Just wanted to give you a message from Rose, all right?" He must look seriously idiotic, because she rolls her eyes and says, "Rose? Brian's _girlfriend_? The dude you beat up the other day? Remember that?"

Frank wipes his palms on his pants and shrugs, all nonchalant. "Yeah, so?" His heart's hammering. This is it. They're going to call him out on him and beat him after school, and this girl's the messenger, so he can't even kill her. Fuck, he should have left his iPod at home. Maybe he can still give Masters his phone in penance, for safe-keeping.

" _Sooo_ ," she answers in that annoying way chicks have, "She says you're off the hook because Brian's nose isn't actually broken, but you're on notice, got it?"

"Uh." What? "Okay?"

"That's all," she says, smiling at him in a way that he could almost qualify as "flirty" if it weren't totally ludicrous. "So, walk tall, or whatever, crazy man."

Frank just blinks at her.

"Ugh, well, whatever, I said my piece. Ciao, Iero," she trills, rolling her eyes, and scampers off, getting lost in the crowd the next moment.

"What the _fuck_ ," Frank says out loud and barely acknowledges the dirty look a passing cheerleader gives him. What the _fuck._ He can't fucking wait to get the fuck out of this hellhole. At least he's got Friday night to look forward to.

*

When he rings Gerard's doorbell, Frank is greeted by – well, he assumes it's Gerard's mom, but she doesn't look like any mom Frank would want to be near. Her face is lined all over, and her eyes are hidden between clumps of mascara. She's got fried blond hair, and once Frank recovers from shock that both her sons actually look like her, only so very not, he decides she's actually pretty badass.

"Uh, Mrs. Way?"

She breaks into a huge grin, and says in a voice owned by a woman who's probably been smoking since she was ten, "You must be Frank, right? Come on in, honey, they're all assembled downstairs."

Frank shuffles his feet on the doormat to get the dirt off, gives her a nervous kind of smile, and goes where her long-nailed finger is pointing – through the hallway. He can hear some sort of jazz filtering in through the family room, but by the time he's walking down the basement stairs, his heart hammering for some reason, he can hear a different kind of music. If those are Gerard's speakers, dude must have spent a fortune, because it sounds like the guitar's being played right in the basement.

And Frank is a complete idiot, because once he's through Gerard's door, he realizes that it is being played right in the basement. By Ray.

"Whoa, dude, you play?" he says before he can think about it.

"Frankie!"

Frank was so taken with Ray shredding the hell out that used Fender that he didn't even notice Gerard and Mikey sitting squished up in the bed together, looking through a comic. Gerard gives him a huge smile, and Frank grins back, knowing that he's probably blushing like an idiot. Jesus, his _mom_ doesn't smile at him like that on the best of days.

"Hey," he says and gingerly sits down on the overcrowded bed, because Bob's occupying the only sole chair in the room. He nods at Frank and goes back to scribbling something on a pad of paper.

"You made it, awesome!" Gerard says and scrambles away from the wall. "It's Dracula night, is that okay?"

"Hell, yeah!" Frank loves that shit. "Hey, is that Stairway?" he asks when Ray's strumming gets clearer.

He thinks that if he could see Ray's ears, they'd be turning pink. His face, at least, looks pretty sheepish when he nods, not breaking away from the playing. So it's pretty clichéd to be practicing on Stairway, but Ray is _good._

"You're really good," Frank says. "How long have you been playing for?"

"Since birth," Mikey pipes up, not looking away from his comic. "Came out of the womb that way. You never read about it? The tiniest Les Paul the world had ever seen. His mom swallowed it when she got –"

"Mikey, shut the fuck up!" Ray only stops playing to launch some sort of shirt at Mikey's head, which he deflects with the comic book.

"Hey, careful with the comic, I haven't even finished it yet," Gerard complains while Mikey gives them all the finger, and Ray turns back to the guitar, shaking his head. This time he starts in on something that turns into "Aces High" instantly.

"I was seven when my brother let me try out his guitar, but I didn't start taking real lessons till I was ten," he finally answers. "You play?"

"Yeah," Frank answers, shaking his head, "but."

"What?"

"Not like that." Frank hasn't heard a dude his age play that well in, like, ever. Talk about fucking raw talent.

"Oh, come on," Ray says, giving him an encouraging smile from beneath all the hair. "I bet you're better than you think. Here, take this."

He hands the guitar over to Frank, and now it's like a spotlight on him. Frank's never really been good with spotlights. Bob has looked up from drawing what actually looks like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle on that sketchpad, and Mikey has pushed up his glasses, like they'll help him hear better. And Gerard is openly giving Frank an unblinking, intense stare through his girly eyelashes. Jeez, Gerard can really _stare._

Frank hastily looks down and starts playing Otis Redding, because it's the first thing comes to mind, and it isn't exactly hard work. He cracks up when Bob starts whistling along, but doesn't stop, because it's really fucking nice not to be playing out of desperation, for once. He relaxes into it, and lets the song shift into something hardcore, transforming it into The Clash at some point.

"Dude, you're _really_ good," Ray enthuses and makes grabby gestures for the guitar. Frank feels warm all over. He hasn't actually played for anyone who counts since Dewees left, and Dewees was always baked.

"Thanks," Frank finally answers and hands the guitar back to Ray. "I just, you know. Play sometimes."

"You should do it more, Frankie," Gerard says quietly beside him, and Frank looks at him in surprise. "That was _awesome_." Frank flushes and scratches his nose. He catches a look passing between Mikey and Bob, so he drops his gaze down to where Ray's started playing something he doesn't recognize.

"Okay, if we let Toro continue like this, we'll be here for weeks, and I'm hungry," Bob announces. "And it's movie time."

"Uh, no it's not," Mikey counters, lifting an eyebrow. "Gee hasn't brought what he promised yet."

"What? Oh!" Gerard smacks himself on the forehead like he's a cartoon, and lays down on the bed until his torso's completely hanging off it. Everybody cranes their heads at where he's rummaging under some piles of clothes and old crusty plates. "Ta-da!" Gerard hefts himself up one-handed, the other hand held high above his head. He's got a half-full bottle of Bacardi in his grip, and his hair's a mess around his red, grinning face.

The guys burst into enthusiastic applause and Gerard levers himself up back to sitting position. "Thank you, thank you," he beams and hands the bottle over to Mikey. "I'd have gotten cups, but Mom's upstairs, and she'd get, like, suspicious."

"If you weren't such a shitty liar, maybe she wouldn't," Mikey points out, taking the first swig and passing it over to Bob.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Gerard replies mildly and settles back against the wall next to Frank. "Bob, you're the closest, get that shit going."

"We still haven't ordered pizza," Ray complains and it takes them a good half hour to settle into actually watching the movie, but Frank doesn't even care. He's buzzed and happy, and if Gerard is pressed up against him heavier than he'd normally be comfortable with, or if Mikey's maybe sending him vaguely unsettling looks in the dim room every now and then, well. He's just too damn cozied up to care.

*

It isn't exactly routine; not like lunch. But Frank finds himself at the Ways' front door more often than he expects. Gerard's parents either don't really know what goes on in their basement, or they don't care, because Mrs. Way usually just gives Frank a friendly toothy grin, and Mr. Way grunts from behind the paper in greeting.

Frank has memorized the number of steps that lead down to the basement, and that it's right around the fourth step from the bottom when you realize you're about to enter Gerard's domain, because the wall is slightly yellower from the smoke, and the unwashed clothes smell gets really saturated. Frank has mostly forced himself to get used to it, and what's even weirder, has started to find it more comforting than unsettling. The unsettled feeling is always there, because he never quite knows what he'll find. It might be all the guys, scattered in various formations on the bed and around the floor, or it might just be Gerard – bent over his sketchpad, drawing furiously, earbuds in, hair hanging in his face. And always that quick smile of recognition every time Frank walks through the door. If Frank closes his eyes and tries to recall the feeling, it's always like a bird fluttering inside his ribcage, upsetting all the vital processes.

Today, it's Mikey who opens the door, but instead of following Frank down to the basement, he just shrugs and shuffles off upstairs to his own room. Frank kind of wants to ask what's wrong, but it's not like it's any of his business. Maybe he'll ask Gerard.

Gerard isn't bent over a sketchpad or a comic book this time. Instead, he throws Frank completely for a loop when Frank finds him sitting cross-legged on the floor, curled over an acoustic guitar and humming a melody to uncertain and slightly off-key chords. Frank can't even make himself walk forward. Gerard isn't exactly good with the guitar, even Frank realizes that, but something about the way he's slouched down, his shoulders tense underneath his thin t-shirt, foot beating out a rhythm along to the beautiful melody – Frank can't look away.

Frank only makes a noise by accident when his foot gets caught around the stereo cord and it nearly collapses onto the floor.

"Shit!"

He catches it before it topples over, and by the time he's restored it to safety, Gerard has broken off his playing. When Frank turns around, convinced that he's as bright red as a tomato, Gerard is watching him with wide, unfocused eyes. His pale knee pokes through a rip in his jeans right under the frets.

"Frankie? Hey, I didn't hear you come down at all."

Frank shrugs, his heart still beating from almost braining himself on the floor and killing Gerard's boom box, and slouches down. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Gerard's face suddenly clears and he smiles, bright and sweet. "Heeey," he says again and only then does it hit Frank that Gerard's kind of drunk. Maybe not off-his-head smashed, but definitely buzzed. "Hey, Frankie, sit, sit, c'mere," he says and pats the floor next to him. Frank slowly makes himself move and plant his ass where Gerard indicated.

Once down there, he can smell the bready, beery smell coming off Gerard and it makes him crave a Bud of his own. "Uh, hey. What were you playing?"

Gerard is still smiling when he sweeps the hair off his forehead. He's so close, Frank's entire side is warm and prickling with it. Gerard looks tired, but happy, too, in a vague way. Frank has to fight the urge to reach out and touch the base of his throat, which is so pale and perfect in the dim yellow light. He swallows hard and nods at the guitar in Gerard's lap.

"Oh! Right. I was, uh… I think it was Floyd, but I'm no good. I was just fucking around," Gerard says, plucking at a couple of strings. "Honestly, I don't even know why I own this, I can't play."

Frank shrugs. "Everyone needs at least one guitar in their life. You'll get better if you keep practicing, right?"

Gerard huffs out a laugh and scrunches up his nose. "I don't know, Toro's tried to teach me, but it's, like… I don't bend that way, you know? I can do melodies and, like, write music or whatever, but I think my fingers weren't meant for it or something." He bites his lip and tries out a chord that Frank has only mastered in the last year. "See? Not working."

Frank doesn't know what compels him to do it, and he can't recall the thought processes that lead him there, but he shuffles closer to Gerard and wraps one arm around him so his hand is on Gerard's fingers, over the frets. Gerard is kind of sticky-sweaty against his chest, even though the basement isn't exactly warm, and his hair is getting all in Frank's face, smelling greasy and a tiny bit soapy.

Frank's heart beats harder as settles himself closer to Gerard and starts to rearrange Gerard's fingers on the strings. "Here," he says, and it comes out quiet and hoarse. He thinks he could hear a pin drop right now, that's how quiet the room is. "Try it now."

Gerard strums his fingers on the strings, and the clear rich chord resonates through both their fingers. "Huh."

"Cool, right?"

Gerard shifts until Frank's fingers slip from his own and he's half-turned against Frank's chest. They're both silent, looking at each other like they're waiting. And Frank _is_ waiting, his thoughts swirling and bumping up against each other in his mind, because he knows what he's waiting for, but he knows he _shouldn't_. He knows that this is stupid, they shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't even be here, not like this, not without anybody else there, not without an out.

But he can't convince himself to move away, and then Gerard's gaze flickers over Frank's mouth and he licks his lips before leaning in and kissing Frank.

Frank closes his eyes and lingers against him. Gerard is a really good kisser. Or maybe he isn't, but Frank's got nothing to compare this to. He only knows how it feels. Gerard's soft lips against his, his warm breath between them when he opens his mouth and Frank's automatically follows his. And then Gerard tilts his head and leans in properly, his mouth so wet and hot against Frank's. _Fuck_ , Frank can't help the noise that escapes his throat, like a moan only stuttered, he doesn't have enough breath in him for a moan. Instead, he breathes in Gerard's and then his hands are clutching Gerard's shoulders, dragging him closer. Everything is pounding, and his dick is getting hard, just from this.

When Gerard breaks off and grabs the guitar only to toss it away from them, Frank almost panics from the sudden lack of contact. But Gerard comes back immediately, and this time, he doesn't even let Frank think before he's climbing over him, forcing Frank down onto the floor, and kissing him like he's dying for it.

Frank struggles for a moment, attempting to throw him off, at least reverse them, but then Gerard's hips graze his and Frank forgets about anything else. He wants, he wants _so much_ , and his hands seek out Gerard's skin under his shirt, and his legs fall open to let Gerard in.

"Frankie," Gerard mumbles against his mouth, but Frank so badly doesn't want to _talk_. He shuts Gerard up with his tongue, scrapes his nails down his back and gives up even trying to stop.

It's different like this. He doesn't feel like he'll explode if they don't fuck the way he does each coming moon, but he wants it so much, it might as well be the same. They have to struggle to get their pants undone like this, but when they finally do, it's better than fucking _anything._ Gerard's dick slides against his, slick already, fucking smooth and hard. Frank ruts hard against him, almost fighting just how fucking hot it all is, how _good._ A familiar warmth kick-starts in his belly and takes him past the point of no return.

He can't stop, and he can't unclench – he's surrounding Gerard's body with his arms and legs and he tries to shut himself up by biting down on Gerard's neck, but the sobs of pleasure still fight their way through, and by the time his orgasm hits him and rams all through his body, he feels wrecked, inside and out, throat burning.

Gerard gasps and curses above him and stills, one hand clutching Frank's hair, the other squeezing into a fist at his back. " _Fuck_ ," he whispers, shaking lightly against Frank. "Oh, fuck, how is that so – fucking amazing," he adds even quieter, and Frank doesn't think he's looking for actual answers. Which is good, ‘cause Frank's got none.

When Gerard rolls off of him, the air's chilled out and he can feel goose bumps all over his hips and crotch and belly. He's covered in their come.

"You got any tissues?" he asks, and his voice sounds so weird to his ears. Like not only should he not be talking, but asking for tissues is the weirdest thing anybody's ever asked.

Gerard doesn't appear too fussed about it, though, he just gives Frank a surprised "oh!" kind of look and reaches up to grab the box from his nightstand. "Catch!" he grins, tossing it in Frank's direction.

Frank barely dodges it and has the impulse to throw it right back, but he kind of needs it. Instead, he swipes at the mess on his belly and tosses _that_ at Gerard.

"Fucker!" Gerard laughs and deflects it, and Frank laughs along. It feels really good to laugh. Which is a weird thing to think, like, of course it does.

Frank finally pulls up his pants and rearranges his shirt so it doesn't look quite as sex-wrinkled as it actually is, and then there's a sudden shuffling down the basement stairs.

Shit, they hadn't even fucking closed the door, what the hell. He looks around at Gerard in a panic, but Gerard couldn't give a shit, apparently. He flashes Frank an amused smile and vaguely swipes his hand on a shirt lying next to him. Jesus, he's gross.

Frank snorts, shakes his head, and heaves himself up. At least if Mrs. Way walks in, he isn't going to be caught half-naked with her son on the floor.

He's sitting up against Gerard's bed when Mikey reveals himself. He doesn't even notice that Gerard's pants are barely done up, he just flops down on the bed next to Frank's head and peers at them both blearily.

"Mikey Way, what is your deal?" Frank asks, remembering how downtrodden Mikey looked earlier.

"Bored," Mikey informs him, then rolls over onto his back and sniffs. "You're not, though."

Frank looks up at Gerard in a mild panic, because they haven't even named whatever the fuck it is between them, much less discussed what to do if anyone found out. Gerard flicks his gaze between the two of them, clearly torn, when Mikey continues, "What were you trying to play, Gee?" and indicates the discarded guitar.

Gerard's shoulders slump down, and he licks his lips before answering. "Frank was trying to teach me Floyd, but it's pretty useless. Fun, though."

"You just don't think you can do it, that's your problem," Mikey notes philosophically, then scrambles up the bed until he's sitting up. "So, it's Halloween soon, and Pete's having a party. He said you should, like, come, if you're still interested in mingling with the public school crowd."

Frank raises an eyebrow at him, and Mikey shrugs. "His words, not mine. You in?"

"Frank?" Gerard asks, instead, giving Frank a mildly curious stare. He still looks disheveled and his fly's undone. "You should come, too, it's gonna be fun, I think." With some detachment, Frank notices a hickey blooming out under the collar of Gerard's t-shirt. Well, shit.

"Um. I don't know."

Frank wonders just how much of a loser he's going to come off as if he tells them the truth. He hasn't actually done anything fun for his birthday since he and Dewees egged the gym teacher's house and got away with it, but he's genuinely looking forward to it this year. His dad is coming for a weekend visit. He scratches his head and thinks that maybe a lack of plans with Gerard is what he needs right now. He needs to remember that he's not a part of their group. He isn't a friend. They just don't know it yet.

"My dad's coming to visit," he finally admits. "And I, like. I haven't seen him in a while? So I should. I don't know. Be home for it, you know?"

Gerard's face kind of falls, but he shrugs and sweeps his bangs out of his eyes. "Sure. Well, I'm in," he tells Mikey. "Are Bob and Ray gonna be there? I don't wanna face Wentz and his weird tall buddy without reinforcements."

Mikey cracks a smile and leans over to punch Gerard on the shoulder. "What, I'm not reinforcements? Yeah, they're coming, calm down, Gee, you and Gabe won't be left unsupervised."

Frank feels weirdly alone as he walks home, kicking at the crispy leaves on the ground and not watching the darkening sky.

*

"Hey, kiddo," Dad's voice crackles over the phone. He sounds distorted, or like he's maybe breathing too close to the phone.

"Dad? What's up?" Frank's just locked the door behind him on his way to try and maybe score some new guitar strings downtown, because he's almost out of spares.

"Well, I have some bad news, to be honest," Dad sighs, and Frank can practically feel his heart sinking into his stomach. He pauses on the porch steps and leans against the rails. "I'm so sorry, Frankie, but I can't make it out this weekend."

Frank thumps his head against the pillar. "Yeah."

"It's Melanie, she's come down with some awful cold that won't go away, and you know how she is – won't stop doing things, you know?"

"Yep." Frank watches the trees bending with the wind, losing leaves by the second.

Dad sounds guilty and way too fucking apologetic. It grates. "I just don't want to leave her alone, in case she takes a turn for the worse."

Frank picks at the edges of the peeling paint of the rail and, without meaning to, strips a huge chunk of it right off. It feels really good while he's doing it, but then he realizes that now it looks like shit, and Mom's going to fret. _Fuck._

"You still there, Frank?"

He sighs and nods. "Yep, still here. Sorry, I guess." He clenches his hand into a fist just so he won't peel off any more paint, and kicks away the mess of leaves and dead branches gathered in the corners of the steps.

He can hear his father's breathing over the phone. He shivers, thinking maybe he should have worn gloves or a scarf or something, because it's fucking windy as shit out here.

"Frank, I'm sorry, buddy. I'll make it up to you, okay? You know I'd be – I'd be there in a second, if I could. Right?"

Frank nods again, then clears his throat and manages a "Yeah, Dad. I know. It's – it's okay."

Except that it really fucking sucks, and when Frank gets back from the store, and Mom comes out from the den and asks if he's got any laundry that needs doing, he snaps at her, rips off his coat, and marches into his room, shoving the door closed with his foot.

She's hot on his heels, of course, and he hates it when she barges in without knocking.

"What?"

"I should be asking _you_ that!" she booms, face like thunder. Even her hair looks a little crazy. "Slamming doors and giving lip?"

Frank scowls and doesn't answer, he's too fucking pissed. What the fuck does he care about laundry right now, when his dad is such a goddamn flake.

"Frank Anthony Iero, you are about _one second_ away from being grounded, so you better answer me, mister!" Mom shouts, and that's it, he wants some noise of his own. He whirls around.

"Well, fucking Dad just fucking canceled on us, okay? He's not fucking coming this weekend, all because of Melanie, she's got some – some cold or whatever, anyway, he's a fucking flake, okay?"

He bites his lip and turns away again, feeling like a complete and utter tool, with hot tears pressing up against his eyes. Jesus Christ, he's not a kid, what the hell is he crying for? Except there it goes, something like a sob heaving in his belly and escaping through his clamped lips. It comes out sounding stupid, because he was working so hard to hide it, not like a sob but a blubber.

"Frankie," Mom says behind him, and she's quiet now, and so fucking _sweet_ , he can't take it. She should be furious at him for swearing, and furious for swearing about _Dad_ , of all people, who Frank knows isn't the bad guy. But he could fucking try harder, maybe. For Frank. "Frankie, honey, look at me."

He shrugs her off and feels like an asshole for doing it, but he doesn't want her to see him crying like a baby over this. He already feels like the biggest idiot on the planet.

"It's fine, I'm sorry," he manages to say. He's tense all over, and his feet are rooted to the spot, so the two of them are just standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. It's stupid. His eyes are itching, and his pits are itching, too, he's too fucking hot, but he doesn't move a muscle, waiting for her to leave. He watches the corner of his bookshelf, instead, counting the letters in each title and seeing if they divide into three.

"Frank," she sighs and he hears the bed creaking when she sits down. Great. He forces himself to unfreeze and stride toward the window, so he can at least prop himself against something. "Baby, I'm sorry. He told me today, too. He's incredibly sorry, Frank, you know that. He'd be here if he could."

Frank shrugs and watches the wind continue to pummel the shit out of nature. It's pretty satisfying. It'd be a sweet super power to have, actually, controlling nature like that, except that then he'd be kind of like Storm, and Storm is pretty lame, all things considered. Then again, who would he rather be – Wolverine? He doesn't fucking think so.

"Whatever, it's fine. Over it," he mumbles, and hears her sigh behind him.

"It's okay to be angry about it, you know. I understand."

He's about to tell her that she so doesn't, but stops himself in time. Of course she does. Dad walked out on her as much as he did on Frank. So he shrugs again and doesn't say anything, and she finally leaves, nudging him in the back a little, like a pat, while he wipes his eyes and continues standing there like a statue.

*

He and Mom end up going over to Aunt Sylvia's and helping her hand out candy. He doesn't bother going elaborate with the make-up or anything, but the rugrats who show up at her door still enjoy his cape and fangs. He threatens to suck the blood of a few of them, then scares the others with a demonic grin he's perfected in the mirror over the years. They shriek and laugh and he ignores the text alerts vibrating in his pocket all night long. Not like any of them would make him feel better about turning seventeen surrounded by strange children, or anything.


	3. Third Moon

He wakes up in the middle of the night hard as a fucking rock. His hand flies to his dick immediately, and even through the earth-shattering orgasm he can barely believe he lasted all of fifteen seconds.

 _Jesus._

It's too soon, it's way, way, _way_ too soon for it to hit this bad, and this hard. He keeps telling himself that all through the restless, painful night, and the whole time he's getting ready for school, and while he clenches his teeth trying not to come in pants every time the bus jostles him side to side. But no matter how much he repeats the mantra of "not yet, not yet, not yet," the blood-boiling, frantic need doesn't stop.

And it only gets worse once he gets to school. He runs into the first bathroom he sees, ignoring the dirty looks sent in his wake, and retches into the disgusting toilet.

"Ugh, _gross_ ," he hears someone groan while he spits more bile into the cistern.

"Stay away from the tiny freak today," adds another voice, and Frank tries to block them from his mind completely.

They don't fucking matter. What matters is their fucking _smells_ are overwhelming – wretched, stifling emotions that keep hitting him from every angle. He flushes the toilet as fast as he can, because any second now, he'll throw up from smelling his own puke, and he wants to cry with how badly he just can't handle today. He isn't ready, it isn't _time._

The day stretches ahead of him, so long, it doesn't seem to have an end. And then another, probably even worse. Harder, needier. _Fuck._ He's on his knees on the revolting boy's room floor almost in tears because he can't face it, can't actually make himself get up and open that stall door and catch his own reflection in the mirror on the way out.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to breathe through his nose. Then he slowly heaves himself up off the floor and stands, rooted to the spot, hand on the flimsy lock. Now that there's nothing left to throw up, and the dry heaves have mostly subsided, he can feel it, the insistent itch starting to crawl slowly up his skin. His lips curl into a snarl without his permission and he rattles the locked door then hits it as hard as he can, his palm vibrating with the impact.

 _Fuck._

He has to do this. He can't. He has to.

*

He can't actually afford to skip any classes. Mom's already gotten so many warning notes from the Main Office, she might as well make a mosaic out of them on the side of the house. Sure, she doesn't yell at him as hard as if he was just a regular class-skipping dumbass, but the idea of seeing her get that disappointed, crest-fallen look on her face every time he comes home with a pink piece of paper is not something he relishes.

He calculates the number of breaks he can take during the day.

Bathroom break during every period. That's seven. Plus, all of lunch. He's got Study Hall, he can take a while in the bathroom. Gym class will suck balls, but at least they're running laps today. He can handle that.

He leans face-first against his locker and grips the cold handle until his fingers ache. He has to get through it. He _has_ to.

*

Ivanov the Bio Teacher from Russian Hell gives him a super grumpy look when Frank's hand flies up for a bathroom pass, but he can't legally tell him "no," so he hands it over.

"You better not be meeting anybody in there, Iero," he warns in his accent that sounds nothing like Chekov on Trek, "I have my eyes on you!"

Frank runs to the boys' room as fast as his feet will carry him. It's the first time the entire day that he feels even remotely human. He checks under each stall as quickly as he can, then beats one out even faster, open-mouthed so he doesn't make any noise when he comes. He slumps against the wall afterwards with his spunked dick still in hand, breathing through his mouth. He doesn't have to go back _yet_ , as far as Ivanov's concerned, he could be taking a huge dump or whatever. Dude can't actually bust Frank for taking too long in the bathroom.

He squeezes his eyes shut and runs his loose fist over his cock. It's hard again. _Fuck._ He shoves his free hand into his mouth and bites down on the fleshy part as he strokes himself off again, fast and tight, his hips jumping on every stroke, _yeah_ , he thinks, _that's it, like that._

Except that isn't it at all. He comes, but it doesn't feel like a relief; it barely feels like anything. He might as well be scratching around a massive itch – it doesn't touch the itch _at all._ Instead, it ratchets it up even higher, and his soft dick might as well be pounding nails; it's a breath away from being hard again.

Jerking off in the bathroom stall won't cut it now. He needs something else, and when he realizes what it is, he hits his head so hard against the wall, he gets an instant headache under his skull.

He can't. He shouldn't. But he can't help it. What he needs is someone else there, someone to crawl over, someone to grab, someone to bury himself in, someone to _fuck._ He needs _Gerard_.

*

Because Frank would rather die than be in the crowded, bustling hallways more than he has to, he texts Gerard to just meet him in the closet for lunch and not at Frank's locker, then elbows his way through until he can more or less surreptitiously get in there and close the fucking door.

God, _finally._ He can squeeze out a good forty minutes of peace and fucking quiet from this day.

He drops his bag to the floor and sags against the wall, letting his knees buckle and take him down. He's hard again, but he doesn't know if he should wait for Gerard or take care of it before he gets there, because Frank doesn't actually want to freak him out by jumping his bones on the spot. On the other hand, he's got no idea what he'd do with the mess, he forgot to pack tissues, ‘cause he's a moron –

He's unzipping his pants and shoving them out of the way before he's even made a decision. It isn't until he's gasping and cursing that he becomes fully conscious of the fact that he's actually jerking off. _Fuck_ , he hadn't meant to do that, but it isn't like he can stop now. There's no way he could, maybe if a herd of elephants ran through the school or something, but even then he's pretty certain he'd take care of business, _then_ run.

Underneath all the hallway hubbub he almost misses the two quiet knocks on the door, but Gerard's scent hits him right in the gut. He's here. He's _here._

Frank bites his lip and takes his hand off his dick, even though it's the most painful thing he's ever had to do. He can barely see through how much he needs to get off, but he needs Gerard even more, so he forces himself to slide back up the wall and lean over to unlatch the inner hook. He's weighed down by his dick, junk hanging out, and he should probably care that he looks like a tool, but instead all he cares about is getting Gerard to his side of the door.

"Hey, Frankie," Gerard whispers after he's shut the door behind him, but Frank doesn't give him a chance to say anything else. He yanks on his shoulders and almost topples them both over with the force of it. Gerard emits a shocked noise, but he's right there with him, and he meets Frank more than halfway for the kiss.

Frank comes as soon as his hand's back on his dick, and only breaks off the kiss to slide down to his knees. He doesn’t bother to pull up his pants - instead, he jerks open Gerard's fly, and gets him hard with his mouth. He licks him up and down, sliding his tongue all around the head, tonguing at the slit to get at his taste, sucks in the head, then licks him all over again. Gerard is gasping over him, grabbing Frank's head and shoulders, but he doesn't say anything, thank God, he just takes it, lets Frank have him.

Frank breaks off only because Gerard is teetering on his feet, he can feel him shaking.

"Back up," he commands quietly, "back up against the wall, Gee."

It takes Gerard a moment to comply, probably because he'd been expecting lunch, not a blowjob, but then he shuffles backwards until he hits the wall, and Frank is done focusing on logistics.

None of his solo handjobs hit the spot like this is doing. Now that Frank's got him, he's going to keep Gerard exactly where he wants him. He strokes his fist over Gerard's dick slow at first, needing him to last. Then he closes his eyes, leans in, and concentrates on keeping his lips wide and over his teeth because when Gerard is hard, Gerard is fucking _big_.

Frank moans around him and feels completely overwhelmed. All he fucking wants is to go so deep, he'll choke on it, take Gerard to the edge, make him come so hard, he'll be begging Frank to let him go, and Frank won't. He can barely remember to breathe through his nose and it doesn't really help. Gerard's grabbed his head and there's no finesse in his hips stuttering back and forth, or the strangled noises he's making.

They're both shaking, and Frank's knees are fucking killing him, his neck aching from moving at an awkward angle, but he can't stop now, he's in cock-sucking nirvana. He's overwhelmed and shorted out, and he's so fucking hard again, he's dizzy.

Gerard squeezes his hair and pulls and Frank's dick jumps in his pants, _fuck_ , yes. He knees his way closer to Gerard and manages to open his eyes long enough to look up at Gerard's face. He's open-mouthed beneath the hair hanging over his face, and his eyes are dark shadows.

When Gerard catches Frank's gaze, his dick swells harder, and Frank nearly chokes. Gerard's going to come. Frank keeps sucking him, same methodical strokes of his tongue, and when Gerard trembles and stills, Frank swallows everything that he can possibly take, but there's so much, he's forced to pull off before he actually gags. He lets the rest spill across his tongue and on his lips and down his chin, though, he doesn't pull away completely.

" _Fuck_ , Frank, _Jesus_!" Gerard's voice sounds unused and raw, but it's Frank who can't talk now. He latches onto the exposed skin of Gerard's hip with his teeth and grabs his own dick. He comes to their combined scent clinging to Gerard's skin, trembling like he's running a fever. The sound he makes sounds like a sob to his own ears, but it couldn't be, he tells himself, it was probably the dark that changed it.

*

"My parents are out all night at some work thing of my mom's," Gerard informs him kind of casually, scratching a fingernail against the peeling paint of the closet wall. "And I think Mikey's got a date, too."

Frank rolls his head until he's facing Gerard. He clears his throat and tucks his feet closer underneath him. "Yeah?"

Gerard shrugs, still watching the paint under his fingers. "Yeah. If you wanted to, like, come over." Then he looks up from under his messy hair and Frank's gut kick-starts.

"Sure," he answers, trying to figure out if there is any way he can casually palm his dick right now without giving away that he's hard again. "If you wanna hang out."

"I do," Gerard confirms in a quiet voice. "Come over."

*

Frank's hands are on Gerard's fly as soon as they stumble through the basement door, while Gerard struggles with the buttons of Frank's shirt. When they finally meet for a kiss, it's almost violent, and Frank relishes every fucking second. He's been vibrating for this since they met up after school, trying to control himself and not pounce on Gerard as they walked.

Now, he wants Gerard horizontal, so he walks him quickly backwards through the obstacle course that is his floor. They stumble on clothes and pens and CDs, but luckily Gerard's bed's pretty close.

Gerard goes down beneath him, then starts to squirm. "Wait, Frank – wait, I've got –"

Frank blinks and rolls them both sideways, until he can fish out whatever the fuck Gerard had landed on – a rubber duckie, apparently – and toss it to the floor.

Frank's feet are hanging off the end of the bed, and they're on it weirdly sideways. He's so hard, he's nearly blind from it, but he wants this to be better than a fucking quickie in the closet.

"Gerard, sit – sit up for a second, okay," he asks, his voice coming out strained, and rolls off enough to pull off his pants and underwear, then struggle out of his shirt. When he tosses that to the floor, as well, he looks over at Gerard. Who's naked from the waist down, staring at him with wide eyes, one hand running over his naked thigh like he's not even conscious of it. He's still got his shirt on.

Frank licks his lips and leans over to tug it upwards, his hands catching and sliding on Gerard's bare skin. He's so fucking smooth, and soft, too, around his belly and hips. Frank really means to help him slide the shirt over his head, but his hands wander down without his permission and he follows their trajectory with his mouth, tasting Gerard's skin at his belly, licking around the hip. Gerard's squirming somewhere above him, but Frank no longer cares.

His body's thrumming with Gerard – his smell where Frank is sliding down his torso, the texture of his skin where Frank's hands are dropping down to touch him. His fingers run through the almost non-existent hairs on Gerard's thighs and he shuffles down until he can spread them open and run his thumbs over the line where Gerard's ass ends and his legs begin. When Frank's eyes flicker upwards, he catches sight of Gerard's dick standing out over his belly, dark and hard, with Gerard's panting face out of focus behind it.

"Frank – what do you want, can I –"

Frank shakes his head, sweat already beading on his forehead and on the back of his neck and doesn't answer. Instead, before his brain processes what his body's doing, he's urging Gerard over onto his stomach, hands slipping on Gerard's skin. Gerard sends a quick confused look before getting with the program. It takes them both a while to work out limbs and positions, but when Gerard is finally on his stomach with Frank between his legs, Frank knows exactly what he wants.

He grabs Gerard's hips, pulls his ass in, and buries his tongue between the cheeks, his mouth already watering from the remembered sensations. _Fuck_ yes. _This._

"Ah!" Gerard cries out and thrusts back against Frank's face. "Yeah, fucking - _yeah_."

He's rutting, moaning into the sheets, and Frank pushes forward even more, until he can barely breathe. He licks him over and over and over, quick and messy swipes across his asshole, relishing the way Gerard is shaking against him. His smooth ass feels incredible under Frank's fingers and Frank squeezes, letting himself go, inhaling his scent.

Then – Frank doesn't make any particular decision; just, one second he's rimming Gerard, and the next he's pushing in a single finger where his tongue had been. He's one knuckle deep when his brain catches up with him, and he's missed something crucial, he knows, but he can't stop now.

" _Fuck!_ " Gerard shouts, shaking. Frank should ask him if it's okay, but he's too far gone. Gerard is fucking hot inside, the hard ridges squeezing his finger but giving way, too, when he pushes hard enough.

"Oh, _fuck_ , Frankie – I – it's too – too much, wait, _wait_ -" Gerard grits out, and from some hidden reserve, Frank finds the strength to pull out and move back. Gerard glances over his shoulder, and Frank watches his red face guiltily, apology on the tip of his tongue.

"Gerard –"

"No, no, it's – lube, I've got lube, it's – here." He slaps a hand over his bedside drawer and slides the whole thing out so hard, Frank thinks the drawer might go flying. It stops with a bang, though, and Gerard's rummaging around without looking, his eyes still kind of glued to Frank's, crazy and huge. Finally, he retrieves the bottle and tosses it backwards at Frank. Frank's gut churns.

Fuck. _Fuck._ He's _doing this._

"Please," Gerard says, voice pleading. "Just – okay?" He ducks his head, then makes a decisive move and rolls over onto his back, covering his face with one arm. "Do it, _please_ ," he adds, voice almost pleading, and spreads his legs.

Frank gulps and leans in enough to bite at Gerard's thigh, damp and smooth under his tongue. He's just – Gerard's just fucking _letting_ him. _Fuck._

It takes Frank a frustrating minute to uncap the bottle. He's got no idea how much is too much, how much is enough, and he's got no fucking patience for science right now. He overturns the whole thing and squirts out a bunch onto his fingers, letting it dribble down onto the blankets, but _whatever_.

He slides back in between Gerard's legs, pushing Gerard's thigh up and out of the way with his clean hand. He's just about to push in with his lubed-up finger when he catches sight of Gerard's mouth, open and wet and panting. "Is – I can, right? Is this okay? Tell me –" he begs, because another second, and he won't be able to hold back.

Gerard takes a deep breath, then, and nods, his face still hidden by his arm. Frank swipes his arm over his stinging eyes and takes a deep breath himself. He's hanging by a thread.

When he slides the finger in this time, it's a lot easier, and a hell of a lot smoother. It's so tight, still, that Frank has no idea how Gerard's not kicking him off, but he isn't. Instead, he makes a needy ‘ah' sound, and slides down just enough that Frank's finger gets buried in his tight heat. _Jesus._

Frank bites his lip and slides it out, just a little bit, then pushes it back in. He can barely hear Gerard's erratic breathing over the rushing in his own ears, but it sets his teeth on edge with how not _enough_ it is, how he wants so much more. He blinks away the sweat in his eyes and slowly pushes in another finger, stretching him out. Gerard bucks against him immediately, and Frank goes faster, starting to fuck him with his fingers, unable to stop now that Gerard's really letting him.

And he is letting him, gasping up above him, with these tiny hiccuping sounds escaping every once in a while and driving Frank higher and higher up. He's got three fingers inside Gerard now, his face smushed into Gerard's hip, Gerard's dick tantalizingly close and fucking _hard_. Frank wants it in his mouth, but he can't focus on anything but the hot slide of Gerard's ass around his knuckles. He's barely breathing – there might not even be air in the room, as far as he's concerned.

Then he twists his fingers inside and Gerard shouts, shocked raw, hands grabbing Frank's head and shoulders.

" _God_ \- do that again – what –"

Frank is more than eager to do it again, because the sound Gerard made nearly undid him. He wants Gerard to make it for him again, wants Gerard falling _apart._ He twists his fingers and strokes the same spot, harder this time, and Gerard arches up off the bed against Frank and moans like a cat in heat. It's so fucking hot, Frank almost stops moving. _Fuck, fuck_ , that's _amazing_. He does it again and again, does it until Gerard is past all human sound, strung tight like a bow string, his every muscle straining under Frank's.

Frank doesn't remember making the decision to pull out his fingers, but the next thing he knows, he's up and across the room, ripping open his bag and rummaging at the bottom for the strip of condoms he invested in a couple of months ago, on the fly.

"Frank? Frankie, what –" Gerard's voice is shot all to hell. When Frank looks up at him, he's pink-cheeked, hair damp around his face, legs still spread, hand wrapped around the base of his cock, watching Frank back with wild eyes. Frank wants to fuck him so much, it hurts.

He sweeps away the hair stuck to his forehead and stumbles back to the bed, landing on it haphazardly between Gerard's legs. He uncurls his damp fingers from the condoms and extends his hand towards Gerard.

"Can I – Gee, can I fuck you?" His other hand's busy gripping Gerard's thigh, which he doesn't notice until Gerard makes a move and the muscles under Frank's fingers shift.

"Have you ever, you know - done that?" Gerard croaks, watching him with desperate eyes.

Frank bites his lip and shakes his head. "No, not - not this." He holds his breath, not daring to think further than this, right here.

Gerard squeezes his eyes shut, and then nods. "Yeah. Okay. _Fuck_ , yeah, anything, please, _please_ -" His voice sounds just about as desperate as Frank feels, and Frank's breath whooshes out of his throat. He's done waiting.

He's seen enough porn that he knows they can do it both ways, missionary or doggy-style, and he realizes doggy-style's probably easier, like the rimming had been, but he couldn't see Gerard's face, and he wants to; needs to.

He rips open one of the foil packets and fumbles with the condom, which is just as slippery and hard to slide on as when he'd tried it by himself. But it's finally on, a weird claustrophobic sensation Frank's bent on ignoring, and then he just upends the entire fucking tube of lube over his dick, working it all around, to the point where he needs to stop or he will fucking _come._ He grabs his balls and tugs, _down boy._ The he pinches the base of his dick over the rubber and drags himself forward.

Gerard's eyes are boring into his as he spreads his legs around Frank, and Frank has just enough presence of mind to lean forward, prop himself on both arms around Gerard's shoulders, and ask him. "Are you sure?"

Gerard surges up and grabs Frank's head, kissing him fiercely, thighs squeezing his waist. "Yeah," he nods when he breaks off, "I'm goddamn sure."

Frank stifles a whine and drops his head down to Gerard's chest, shuffling forward on his knees. He _has_ seen enough porn to know how it's done, but he still can't quite figure out the best way to fit himself up against Gerard.

"Here, let me –" Gerard breaks off and roots around behind him until he's grabbed a pillow. "I think –"

"Yeah, just –"

Frank forces himself to move back and let Gerard stuff the pillow under his ass, so he's higher up on the bed. Frank would have maybe come up with that trick, if he wasn't hard enough to pound nails and teetering on the edge of sanity. He shuffles back until he can grab Gerard's thighs, because this part, at least, he knows.

He slowly bends them until Gerard's squished up into himself, his face scrunched up and vivid, but he doesn't protest. Then Frank grabs his dick and pushes against Gerard's ass.

At first, nothing happens, so he swipes a finger through the lube on his dick and slides it carefully into Gerard. Gerard makes an abortive moaning sound, which Frank takes for an encouragement, and slides his finger further in. Gerard's clamped tight around him, and he's taking huge breaths, Frank can feel it where their bellies brush.

When he slides his finger out, Gerard looks him in the eye and moves until his hand is over Frank's on Frank's cock. Frank gasps, brain swimming.

"Here," Gerard breathes, and aims Frank's dick until the head is sliding in, right into his ass. They both groan at the same time and Gerard's hand disappears while Frank's entire body gives a long, hot shiver. He's never felt anything even _close_ to this tight heat of _Gerard_ around him.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he curses, then panics and surges forward until he's fucking buried to the hilt, his balls up against Gerard's ass, his dick throbbing, his mind in _pieces._

Gerard's mouth opens on a deep gasp, the sound and vibrations going right through Frank. Frank rolls his hips and pulls away again, trying desperately to recover his ability to think, to _speak._ "Gee – Gerard, you – you okay?" he manages to grit out, and Gerard is nodding immediately, saying, "Yeah, yeah, just – move, move again –"

Frank shuts his eyes and shoves back in. Then he does it again, the drag of it sweeter and hotter each time, and again. Gerard's voice breaks over little ‘ah, ah' sounds that escape every time Frank fucks into him, getting more and more desperate.

 _God._ God, this is – fucking, they're _fucking_ , and he has no idea if it's good for Gerard at all, he can't even open his eyes, he's so far gone. He can feel Gerard's dick hard against his belly, and that's as good a sign as he'll get, he thinks, so he pulls out and shoves forward again, and again, and _again._ He's never – nothing has _ever_ felt like this. He's barely holding himself up, all of his energy going into following where his hips and dick want to lead him, which is harder and harder into Gerard, fucking him faster with each thrust.

When Frank opens his eyes, Gerard's flung out one arm, hand clutching his blankets and sheets in a tight grip. His face, so close to Frank's, is a blur of ecstasy, like Frank's a camera without a flash – catching Gerard's open mouth or screwed-up eyebrows with each move, but unable to get the whole picture. His breath and broken voice travel directly to Frank's gut, slowly unraveling him from the inside. He's close. He's so fucking _close._

"Gee – Gerard," he croaks, "Make yourself come, I – I can't – do it, jerk yourself off," he begs, and Gerard does it immediately, crying out as soon as his hand is on his dick.

"Oh, fuck, oh - _God_ ," he moans.

Frank drops his gaze to watch the space where Gerard's hand flies over his cock and right behind it is Frank's cock, disappearing into his ass, their bodies moving and shifting in a way that should be embarrassing, but is the hottest, filthiest fucking image in the world. It's too much. It's too fucking _much_.

Frank looks up at Gerard's face, the imprint of the confusing agony-pleasure divide traveling across his features. He's beautiful. He's fucking _beautiful_ and he's letting Frank fuck him like he's dying for it. Frank is still watching his face when Gerard opens his eyes and pins Frank with a stare so naked, so fucking _obvious_ that Frank drops his gaze and buries his face in Gerard's chest. He can't – he won't –

Gerard moves his legs until he's enveloping Frank's body completely, his hand still moving between them on his dick, and then he arches against Frank and tightens all around, crying out as he comes. Frank's entire body spasms from the shock of feeling it _from the inside_ , squeezing all around his cock, and his hands lose all feeling as he comes the next moment, shaking and losing his shit, his throat tight from moaning.

He doesn't white out, but he also doesn't know how long he floats in post-orgasm land, either, still buried balls-deep in Gerard, the aftershocks twitching through his cock. He rides it out, then lifts up his head. Gerard's watching him back with huge blown eyes. His mouth looks dry and a little brittle, and Frank doesn't think before he's leaning over and kissing him carefully, slicking his lips.

"Hi," Gerard whispers when Frank breaks away.

"Hi," Frank whispers back, and finally manages to push himself up and pull out, trying to be gentle, but failing. His body isn't moving properly at all, like he's been put back all wrong.

After he's slipped off the gross condom, tied it off and tossed it, they lie there quietly on Gerard's messed up bed, not quite touching, but somehow still in contact – Gerard's arm brushing Frank's stomach, Frank's knees poking Gerard's thighs. It seems like it got dark when they weren't looking, and now the light filtering in through the small window is only light compared to dark corners of the room. It's past twilight.

Frank watches Gerard's belly rising and falling with each breath, then raises his gaze to Gerard's face. It's as if Gerard was waiting for it, because his face breaks into a wide smile, cheeks lifting. "You okay?" he asks and reaches for Frank's hand.

It's impossible not to answer Gerard's smile, so Frank does and answers without checking in with the rest of himself, "Yeah." He squeezes Gerard's fingers and asks in a careful voice, "How are - like. How do you feel?"

Gerard bites his lip and rolls his eyes a little. "You know. Sore, I guess. Good, though," he answers, gaze boring into Frank's. "Really fucking good." Then a tiny giggle escapes him, like he hadn't been expecting it. Frank sniggers back, unable to stop himself. Jesus, they had full-on _sex_ and all they can do is giggle like a pair of idiots.

He can smell Gerard's satisfaction, and taste his own at the back of his throat, like he's floating on the surface of feeling. He stretches and allows his hands to settle on Gerard after he's done, bringing him closer, feeling the shift of muscle and softness under his fingers. Gerard moves until they're a breath away and grins at Frank, biting his lip. He looks kind of impish like that, and Frank gives into impulse and pecks him on the nose. Gerard's eyes wrinkle at the corners with his smile.

"That was awesome," he whispers and Frank has to agree.

"It really fucking was."

He thinks, as he trudges home later, bracing himself against the cold, that maybe even his moon fever's been satisfied, now that it's been given what it wants, but he's so fucking wrong. He's barely back home before his blood starts boiling at the memories, and all he wants to do is run back to Gerard's and give his body what it wants, now that it knows. Give himself what he wants. And he has no idea when the two became one and the same.

*

He doesn't sleep again that night, his brain too awake and too fucking needy to let him rest. He jerks off about a thousand times, the record in his head stuck on _fucking, we fucked, we fucked_. He can't get Gerard's smell out of his skin. Every time he turns his head, he catches a quick whiff of _Gerard_ and it enflames his every pore, he can't fucking _sleep._

He fucks Gerard again the next day, their knees digging into the dusty floor of their closet, Gerard's arms braced on the wall against the onslaught. Their pants are just barely pulled down to give access, their shirts tucked just enough out of the way. Frank buries his face in Gerard's sweaty hair and bites down on the skin of his neck, his growl barely caught in his throat.

Gerard thrashes against him, silent to the rest of the world, but for Frank, his breath is a fucking symphony of sex. They get lost, the two of them, in Frank's heat, and Gerard's breath, and the feeling that nothing can get them here, not even the constant shifting bodies just outside that flimsy door.

*

Frank feels like his head is going to split open as he runs home. He can still smell Gerard all over himself – on his clothes, on his hands. He can taste him in his mouth, a texture that refuses to go away and lurks somewhere deep in his throat, so that every time he inhales, he gets a shot of pure lust that tastes like Gerard.

 _Jesus Christ._

Running feels good. The pain of the asphalt coming up to meet him on every step feels good. He probably needs new shoes, but right now, the hard reverberation is just what he needs. He has no idea how even stayed in school today. If it hadn't been for Gerard, he probably would have ripped himself to pieces.

He can almost hear the way Gerard called out his name when Frank fucked him, a strangled, guttural sound. Frank shakes his head and tries not to remember at all, but with the cold wind whipping him about and the pull of the moon, it's out of his control now. And not long, not long, now.

*

The door's already open when he rounds the cemetery bend and takes the cul-de-sac at a speed previously unknown to man. Mom is standing in the doorway with her arms around herself, looking small against the light of the hallway, and Frank brings himself up short just in time so he doesn't bowl her over.

"Hi," he pants and leans in to give her a quick kiss, trying to ignore the worried way she's watching him. She pets him on the back and helps him out of his coat after she's shut the door.

"How was school?" she asks while he's shucking his shoes, and he struggles not to laugh while stumbling around like a tool.

"You know. Fine and dandy, mental torture, as usual," he answers, not looking at her. He doesn't need to, to know she's giving him that frown right now. In any case, it isn't like he's ever going to tell her that nowadays he seems to be spending the days leading up to the full moon fucking a dude in a closet.

"Well, okay, then," she answers.

He turns around and gives her a quick look. "Seriously, it was fine. Lead me down?"

"Are you sure you can't… I mean, I know, but – you have to eat _something_ , honey," she pleads. They haven't had this particular argument in a while, and he's not about to spend ten precious minutes where he could be throwing himself mindlessly against walls debating the eating habits of the wolf.

"Ma, I'll just throw it back up, you know that," he says and takes off down the hall before she can answer. She's right behind him, but no longer arguing. He's going to have to make this up to her at some point. This shit really sucks. It's not like he wouldn't kill for a bloody fucking steak right now, but that's not _him._ That's not what _he_ wants.

Mom gives him a quick hug after he's handed off his clothes to her, then she shuts the door and the locks and the latches behind him.

He takes a few deep breaths and shivers in the cold, forcing himself to take the last few steps into the basement. Every time he has to go down here, a huge part of him panics. It's too dark, and smells too raw – both familiar and completely not like home. They never go in here unless it's absolutely necessary. She gets him fresh hay every month right before the moon, but she does it so stealthily, he never even knows when or how. He just knows that she does.

The sun sets quickly after he's settled himself onto the pile of hay in the corner, still shivering, and all he can hear is the pulsing of his own heart in his ears. He closes his eyes and waits for the sun to disappear entirely and for the moon to do her thing.

Right before the change comes and the pain begins to set in (overwhelming, heart-breaking, jaw-tearing and ear-popping pain), he thinks he smells something new – familiar, though, in a way he could pinpoint if only he wasn't fading, if only he could hold onto – if only –

The wolf lashes out against the bars of the windows through the fading human scream, because it knows that smell, as well. It knows what it wants, it knows that the bars are in its way.

The wolf claws at the unyielding metal, claws at the dirty scratched-up walls that stand between it and what it wants. The smell, it _knows_ , it knows that smell.

The bars don't give, and the walls don't move, and soon, the smell is gone, replaced by a shock of cold fear, and then nothing, nothing at all as the wolf howls and tears at itself in frustration.

*

Frank wakes up again in his own bed. Fucking shit, the blackouts of the change in the morning have got to be a bad sign. If he thinks hard enough, he can remember whimpering in pain, tasting his own blood. If he thinks even harder, he remembers stumbling down their endless short hallway, bundled in a blanket.

After that, he only remembers a moment ago.

"Hi, honey," Mom's voice calls out softly. When he startles and turns his head, he sees her sitting at his desk, watching him with her cheek propped up on one hand. The dull light is making her look suddenly younger. She's really pretty like this.

"Hey." His voice is a croak, so he clears his throat. She pushes away from the desk and leans over to hand him water. He watches her while he drinks from the glass, sees how her wrinkles grow clearer. She never does this, usually waiting until he calls her to come in. "What's up?" he asks after downing all the water and falling back against the pillows.

She puts a warm hand on his forehead and shrugs. "Nothing, I was just puttering about, but – how do you feel, honey?"

He assesses every point of pain in his body. He's probably fine. "All right." Something niggles at the edges of his brain, but he can't place it, it's all mixed up with the horror of the change somehow. She nods at him seriously.

"Okay, good. I have to get to work, but here's more water and cereal, okay? There's soup in the fridge, just heat it up, and some of that nice bread you like. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Frank nods, trying to crack his face into smiling. He's just so fucking _tired._ Right before Mom leaves, he remembers. "Mom! Do you know where my phone is?"

She laughs and shakes her head at him, then takes it out of her pants pocket. "You have no messages. Here, I'll leave it –" She sets it down next to the lamp, gives him a quick peck on the forehead, and finally leaves after a pause at the door.

After he's checked the inbox twice, he tries to shake a weird sense of disappointment, as he hears Mom's car pull out of the driveway.

*

He's completely disoriented when he wakes up again, starving and muddle-headed. A quick glance at the clock tells him it's two already, which means Gerard has probably texted him a million times about his loathing of gym class or whatever. Frank didn't warn him he'd be out, and he feels kind of dickish about it, but. What could he possibly say that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot with stupid excuses?

When he picks up the phone, he's got a missed call, which turns out to be from Mom on her lunch break and nothing else. Frank feels that tug of disappointment again, and decides to fuck it. He texts Gerard asking how much school sucked today. _Sry I wasn't there, c u tomorrow_ , he adds.

He makes himself get up, even though every move hurts like he's moving through fire, and after he shakes down his morning wood, he pees for a million years. He catches sight of himself in the mirror while washing his hands. Pale and bruised eyes, and he needs a shave. He flicks the light off and goes into the kitchen to rummage for that soup Mom had mentioned.

While it's heating up, he goes to find pajamas and sets up camp in the living room with some of his oldest friends, daytime soaps and a bottle of Advil. When he goes to pick up his phone, his heart does a tiny flip at the one new message in his inbox. It's from Gerard and Frank grins at himself while opening it, but all it says is, _okay_.

He frowns and keeps looking at the text, trying not to read it as the brush-off that it pretty obviously is. Maybe Gerard's just in a bad mood. Frank's fingers debate each other about which buttons to press before he forces himself to drop the phone altogether.

He goes through the motions of eating his soup, and downing Advil when the pain returns, and he tries to focus on the fabulous lives of the utterly useless that live in his TV, but he can't. Something about Gerard's text is weird, dude is usually a lot wordier than that.

Maybe he was busted in class using his phone, in which case Frank can probably text him after school gets out. Maybe.

He doesn't wait, though, texting Gerard as soon as he's decided not to. _do u have art 2day?_

Then he flips the TV off, and lays down on the couch, the silence filling the room and his spiraling out thoughts. Somehow, he manages to doze off for a while, and wakes up at five, drooling on the decorative pillows Mom picked up at Target last month. When he goes for his phone, there's nothing, no text or call.

 _Fuck._ Frank fucked it up. He fucked it all up, he _must_ have. The last time he saw Gerard was lunchtime yesterday when they – they fucked. Gerard had sent him off with a kiss, though, like he's done a few times before, and he didn't act weird then, but.

Frank studies his phone for a long time, then throws it aside and turns the TV back on. It's almost time for some decent re-runs. He and Mom can catch up on "Seinfeld" when she gets home, maybe.

When he wakes up the next morning, an irritating tangle of hope in his belly, there's still not another peep from Gerard.

*

He doesn't even run into Gerard in the halls the next morning. In the last month, he would have been hard-pressed not to see Gerard at least slouching to class between periods by this point. Which means Gerard is taking different routes to class.

Which means he's actively working on avoiding Frank.

Which means Frank was fucking right in the first place, and he was never going to be able to hang onto any friends for the fucking life of him. He is a fucking _moron._

He spends Math class trying not to vomit from the knowledge and fear insistently writhing around in his guts.

Shit. _Shit._ Maybe he needs to change schools. Maybe he can start over somewhere else. Maybe - maybe somewhere where there aren't as many assholes, somewhere where he hasn't fucked himself over yet. Maybe he can not be a freak this time around. But he knows that's stupid, because every other school in every other city and every other country sucks just as hard as this fucking place. People don't change; he can't change.

And, really, what's going to happen now, he thinks, watching the wind rip off the last of the yellow and brown leaves form branches, is that Gerard will avoid him, and Frank's life will go back to being what it was before. Which is total shit.

He doesn't even try to listen as Masters drones on and on about polynomials, just watches the leaves falling to the ground and ignores the sick feeling in his chest as best he can.

*

He expects not to see Gerard at his locker when lunchtime finally rolls around, but his heart still sinks when he gets there. He flips out his phone, just in case, but he's got nothing.

He beats his head against his locker for a minute, then looks at his lunch and decides he's too fucking sick to eat, and makes his dejected way to the East Wing closet.

He rounds the stairs that lead to the first floor, and suddenly comes face to pale face with Gerard, standing in a crowd of passing-by jocks and their idiotic girlfriends.

Frank freezes on the spot and the moment extends when Gerard does the same. With completely perfect clarity, Frank realizes that he was right. The uncertain fear gives way to a conviction that makes his heart feel as if it's become a time-bomb, ticking heavily in his chest, blooming upwards into his throat, and all the way down to his toes.

"Hey," he hears, then realizes that's his own voice. He clears his throat and looks down at his shoes, where they've been scuffed a million times.

When he lifts his head, Gerard's eyes are darting between him and the crowd and he licks his lips before answering. "Hey, uh. What's up?"

Frank shrugs, watching him carefully. He doesn't meant to, he really doesn't, but he can't fucking wait anymore now that Gerard is here, in front of him. "Are – is everything okay?"

Gerard eyes him in between twitching and runs a hand over his neck, then trails it all the way down his bag strap. "I – I don't know? It's – it's stupid, I think, I just." He pauses while Frank waits, his heart hammering like crazy, and shuffles closer until they're almost chest to chest, standing in the middle of the receding crowds. "Look, Frank," he says, quieter this time, and then the words all rush out of him, a familiar cadence that would be comforting if Frank wasn't busy freaking the fuck out. "I'm sorry I was all – I didn't call. Or, like, text you back and was just…weird about it. I didn't wanna talk about it over the phone, right, ‘cause I just – I don't know, I didn't, I was kind of freaked out? And Mikey thought I was being dumb, but, like – I –"

Gerard pauses, looking up suddenly like he's just realized they're in the middle of a crowded hallway. Frank watches him crazily. "What? What is it?"

"I –" Gerard runs a hand through his hair, looking all around them like a mental patient, and Frank gets it and grabs his arm before he can even think about it.

"Let's go someplace else," he says in a voice a lot more decisive than he's feeling. There's hardly anybody left in the halls by the time they make it to the closet, Frank's mind going a mile a second. What the fuck, what's going _on_ , he keeps repeating inside his head just so he doesn't have to find any answers. He's gotta wait. He's going to wait.

He jiggles the lock open and slips in. He moves aside to let Gerard get in behind him, and locks the door. He doesn't turn on the light, just slides down until he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall. Gerard mirrors him silently.

The quiet dark is pretty stifling, but still a welcome fucking change from the bright halogen lights of the rest of the school.

"So," Frank starts, too loud, and lowers his voice. "What – what did – did I –"

He can't make himself ask it. His throat constricts and he pleads with Gerard silently to just fucking _spit it out already._

Gerard breathes a ragged sigh and Frank hears him thump his head against the wall. "I… Okay, it's – it's probably really dumb, but I – okay. So, like. I just." Gerard stutters to a halt and Frank tries not to breathe too loudly and break the tentative thread. Gerard's voice is quiet in the dark. "So, the other day, I went over to your place to see if you maybe wanted to hang out or, like… whatever."

Frank thinks his heart actually stops. He swallows and doesn't say anything because he can't. He already knows.

"And I was walking by your basement window, I think?" Gerard continues quietly. "And, uh. I saw something? And it kind of really freaked me out."

Frank doesn't think he could move if he wanted to. A trickle of genuine cold sweat runs down his back and his spine gives a shudder.

 _No._

Gerard pauses and Frank can hear him swallow, even though the beat of his heart is so loud in his ears, he has no idea how he's able to hear anything at all. "Like – I mean, there's probably a reason or something, but – Frank, are you –"

 _No._

"Like, you know –"

"Yes." Fuck. _No._ What?

"What? You _are_?" Gerard exclaims.

Frank squeezes his eyes shut, curls up until his face is buried against his knees and stops breathing. _Fuck fuck fuck._

Gerard's voice pitches high. "You're keeping _wolves_ in the _basement_? _Why_?"

Frank's thoughts come to a crashing halt. Wait. _What_? "What?" He lifts his head up automatically, and in the dark he can make out Gerard's huge eyes boring into his.

"You said you were – was that seriously a wolf? Why the fuck is there a _wolf_ in your basement? Dude!" Gerard's pushed himself forward and he looks almost _excited_ and Frank's head feels like it's going to explode, because Gerard _saw him in the basement._ "That's so – oh my God, _why_?"

"It's not _like that_!" Frank shouts before he can stop himself, and Gerard freezes, watching Frank with an unblinking stare.

Frank takes a few deep breaths and it's like he can't get enough air into his lungs. _He can't._ But if he doesn't, Gerard's going to think that Frank and his mom are some kind of heinous sadistic – whatever-the-fucks. Or, worse yet, he's going to want to _see the wolf._ And Frank can't – he's never – Jesus Christ, why have they never fucking practiced this? Why doesn't he have a lie all prepped and ready to roll out?

"The wolf isn't," he starts, then stops. _Fuck._ "The wolf, I mean… Shit." He thuds his head against the wall and curses. "Gerard, that wolf is me."

For a long moment, Frank can't hear anything through the pounding in his ears. His hands are shaking so hard, he squeezes them into fists, but it doesn't help. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling to some internal clock that ticks in his head, counting the seconds.

 _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…_

When it gets to four, Gerard's quietly disbelieving voice breaks the heavy silence. "What the fuck."

Frank laughs. It sounds hollow and forced, but that's all he can do. "It was me, Gerard. I'm. I'm a fucking werewolf."

*

Spoken out loud, it sounds like a horrible episode of the Twilight Zone, so it's really no surprise that Gerard's first reaction is to laugh right back. "What?"

Frank waits him out. When Gerard stops laughing, he hiccups on the last breath, and breathes out. "Oh, shit."

Frank sighs, toes digging against the soles of his shoes. "Yep."

"No fucking way. There is _no way_!"

Frank shrugs and picks at the frayed bottoms of his pants with shaking fingers. "Way. I'm a fucking freak of nature."

Gerard laughs again, one quick panicked sound, and then quietly sits up until his face is right up against Frank's. Frank tries to shrink back but there's nowhere to go. He doesn't breathe.

"Frank, that's. You're not fucking with me? You've gotta be fucking with me, I know you – but -"

Frank licks his lips, and tries to hold his voice steady and clear. "Think about every time I've been out of school. Do you remember looking up at the sky?"

Gerard shakes his head slowly, then freezes. "Oh."

Frank nods, watching Gerard's face flit through a series of complicated movements, the last of which is a small uncertain grin lifting his mouth at the corners. "Frank," he says in the same voice Frank's mom would use when he was a kid and trying to convince her he'd seen a monster under his bed at three in the morning. "You –"

"Gerard," he interrupts and tries to make his face look completely passive, even though a nervous giggle is trapped somewhere in his belly, just waiting for a chance to get out. "You _saw_ me. You saw the fucking wolf," he says, his voice almost dead-sounding to his ears.

Gerard bites his lip and his face becomes almost tragic in its expression. "I did," he whispers. "I saw a fucking wolf, I know I did, but – you can't – Frankie," he breathes, and Frank knows he's close, he's almost there. He waits him out, keeping eye contact despite his body revving up to flee. He thinks he might puke. He thinks, _bye, Gerard._ It's been nice knowing you.

"Jesus. _Frank,_ " Gerard whispers, so close, his breath ghosts over Frank's tucked-up knees. For one moment, Frank thinks Gerard's voice might shatter him. He's never heard his name spoken like that. He holds his breath for the next part. "That is the coolest thing I have _ever heard._ "

It's like a record spinning to a screeching halt. " _What?_ " He pushes himself up against the wall, but he can't crawl through brick. This isn't - _no._ "No, it _isn't_ , it's – _no_ , okay?" he says in disbelief. "It's fucking shitty. It's fucking _ridiculous._ It's – what?"

Gerard frowns and settles back on his heels, giving Frank at least a little room to breathe where he isn't squished up into himself, panicking and sweating. "Frankie –"

Frank's still panicked and sweaty, but when he takes a deep breath, the air travels where it needs to. He tries to get his brain back together. "Gee," he says, trying to sound reasonable. "I just told you I'm a fucking _werewolf_ , and you think it's the coolest thing ever. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I just – you're a – you're a supernatural _being_ , dude," Gerard breathes and looks at Frank like he's the goddamn _Messiah_. Frank bites his lip and curls his fingers into fists again.

"I'm a freak of fucking nature is what I am," he grits out, like he's stuck in a loop.

Gerard moves suddenly and Frank startles at the touch of Gerard's hand on his knee. He wants to move away so badly, but he's pinned into place. "You're the coolest fucking person _ever_ ," Gerard whispers with such conviction, Frank considers getting him checked into a psych ward. Gerard just isn't fucking _getting it._ He has no _idea._ If Frank were in his place, he'd be laughing his ass off and running away as quickly as his feet would take him.

"No, I'm _not_ ," he repeats, squeezing the shit out of his own shins. "It's –" He stops himself. There's no way he can put into words right now what the hell it's like. How it feels. He closes his eyes and wriggles his toes just to feel blood circulating somewhere in his body. "Never mind. But you can't. Gee, you can't _tell_ anyone, okay?" He wants to add, ‘not Mikey, not Ray or Bob or _anyone_ ', but he stops himself. Gerard should get that, at least. Gerard better get that.

"What happens to you?"

"What?"

Gerard settles cross-legged in front of Frank like he means to stay a while. "What happens to you? When you, you know – turn into a wolf?"

Frank can't help cracking up, because that's so not the first question he ever expected anyone to ask. Not that he expected it at all. He never intended for anyone else to _know._ He licks his lips and looks away from Gerard's earnest, curious face. Maybe if he breaks it down into parts. Maybe if he tries to hold himself as still as possible. "I - I get…antsy. In the lead-up. And I can't control it, like…at all. As soon as the moon is up, I change. Everything changes. I'm not human anymore."

When he glances at Gerard, Gerard's still staring at him with huge eyes. "And the basement? Why do you get locked in the basement?" he asks.

"What the hell do you think?" Frank laughs kind of bitterly. "I'd rip people to fucking shreds. I can't _control_ it. It isn't _me_ in there."

"Fuck," Gerard breathes. "So your mom – she's gotta know, right?"

Frank nods, sighing. "Yeah. My dad does, too. He paid to soundproof and silver-proof the basement."

Gerard is quiet for a while, and Frank can almost hear the ticking of the questions he's compiling. "Shit, the silver stuff is true?"

Frank screws up his mouth, but can't stop the grin from happening. Gerard's like a kid at Christmas, for fuck's sake. "Yep."

Gerard gives him a stupid grin back, like it got away from him, then stops himself. "Shit." Then his face falls and he frowns. "So does that…the basement stuff, does that mean you weren't born this way?" he asks in a careful tone. "Or, like…the opposite?"

"No, I wasn't." Frank hopes that sounds final enough. He's not ready to open up that particular can of post-traumatic worms.

Gerard seems to accept that and nods, still frowning. Frank drops his head and watches his own hands twisting in his lap. He wishes his knuckles needed to be cracked or something, but he's just wringing his hands like a Victorian fucking lady.

The bell ringing out startles them both into jumping.

"Fuck!" Gerard is up before Frank can even process it. "Shit, Frankie… I can't be late to Bio, my mom and grandma will murder me. My grades have been… Fuck, fuck. Uhm."

Frank gets up slowly, trying to shake his legs out of the pins and needles. His heart is still hammering from the sudden bell, and he has no idea what to even think right now. He just nods dumbly as he gathers up his bag. He can't trust it. He can't trust this. And Gerard didn't get it.

"Okay," is what he says, and reaches for the door.

"Wait, Frank." Gerard crowds up right up against him, bringing back in sharp relief the last time they were in here. Frank breathes in his scent despite himself and stills when Gerard puts a hand over his. "Do you – do you want to come over after school today? Can you?"

Frank blinks. He has no idea. He has a feeling his mom might actually put her foot down for once and force him to make up the work he's missed, but maybe that's just an excuse. Because right now, he doesn't know what he wants. "I, uhm. I don't know? Rain check? Maybe tomorrow night."

Gerard nods a few times, saying, "Sure, cool, okay. Uhm. Text me about tomorrow, I guess."

Frank's voice sounds like a drone's when he says, "Yeah. Tomorrow. Okay."

Neither one of them moves to go, both hands poised on the door. Gerard's is clammy, and Frank can feel his own palm sweating over the chipped paint. Outside in the hall, people are yelling and running and laughing and living their regular lives. Frank licks his lips and finally turns to go when Gerard leans in and catches his lips with a quick peck. He kind of half-misses and lands on the corner of Frank's mouth, but Frank still shivers at the contact. He turns his head just enough to give Gerard a brief kiss back.

He catches a glimpse of Gerard's tiny grin as he leaves, but can barely process it.

Maybe he can hold onto this until it sinks into Gerard's brain what he really _is._ And maybe. Maybe, for now, it will be enough.

*

In order to appease his own guilty conscience, he asks Mom if he can go to over Gerard's after school, and feels another twinge of guilt at the sheer relief of her categorical _NO, Frank, homework FIRST!!! You can see your friends over the weekend._

He texts Gerard letting him know, then spends the rest of the night pacing his room and climbing the walls. The broken record of " _I told, I told, I told_ " gets really old, really fast, and he attempts to drown it out by playing all of _In Utero_ on his guitar in one go. Mom storms into his room around nine thirty, when he's halfway through "Milk It."

" _Frankie._ I understand that you are still recovering, and have done _all_ of the work I had told you to do. But do you have to play this when I've got a headache?"

He pauses mid-chord and slides the guitar off his lap sheepishly. He should have maybe thought of that. "Sorry, Mom."

"That's fine," she grumbles, then pauses in the doorway. "That was very good, honey. Just. Not now, okay? Good night."

He bites his lip and grins. "Night! Sorry."

When he finally makes himself go to bed two hours later, after having spent the majority of the time killing zombies on his computer, he can't get to sleep. He checks his phone to see if Gerard's maybe had some middle-of-the-night revelation about his latest comic book or whatever, then tosses and turns until he annoys himself with all the creaking. He finally falls asleep on the living room couch, watching the starless cloudy sky outside.

*

When Frank shows up at the Ways', his heart is pounding like crazy. He hopes Mikey isn't home, even though he likes Mikey. He just doesn't want to have to worry about anybody else barging in on them, when… Well, he doesn't know. And that's just another worry on top of all the other anxieties writhing around in his gut right now.

Mrs. Way opens the door just like always, giving him her Halloween grin from behind all the smoke, and he wonders, what would she think, knowing the truth?

He shakes himself almost visibly at the thought. Nobody else is going to know. He hasn't allowed himself to wonder this kind of crap in years; it's self-preservation. If you push it down far enough, it won't suddenly spring up out of you without any notice.

He greets Gerard's dad when he walks past him, and takes the stairs to the basement maybe a little bit slower than usual.

Ten more steps, nine. Eight. What is he so worried about? Seven.

Six.

On five, a muted conversation filters in from behind Gerard's door and Frank winces. Mikey must be down there, after all. _Fuck._

He shakes out his shoulders and stretches his neck like he's readying for battle, then pushes until the door swings open.

Mikey _is_ in there, perched on the bed next to Ray. At the foot of the bed is Bob.

Gerard is cross-legged on the floor, and when Frank walks in, he turns to look at him with a sheepish expression. His hair looks like he's pushed it away from his face one too many times and it's stuck, like that face your mom tells you not to make and you do behind her back every day for a week.

The moment extends just long enough for Frank to understand exactly what he's just walked into. _Fucker._

He wants to run, but instead, he's rooted to the spot, watching Gerard for some sign that this isn't what it looks like, that he didn't _tell._ Not when Frank begged him, above all else, not to. Instead, Gerard is silently biting his lips and wringing his hands in his lap.

"Oh, hell, no," Frank spits out and makes a move to turn right the fuck around and _go_.

"Frank, please!" Gerard shouts and scrambles up off the floor. "I'm sorry, I just – please don't leave!" Frank feels Gerard's hands on his arm, tugging on his sleeve, but Frank _really_ doesn't feel like being the freak show on display and rips his arm away, accidentally slamming his shoulder into the doorway.

" _Fuck._ "

"I'm sorry, okay?" Gerard says, stepping close enough for Frank to feel his hot breath on his neck. His eyes are still watering from the sudden impact and even though the hallway's right behind him, he feels backed into a corner. "I just thought it was really cool, you know? It's, like, the coolest thing _ever_ , and –"

"It's fucking _not_ , you asshole!" Frank shouts and forcibly pushes away from the doorway. "It's not fucking _cool_ , okay?"

"Uh, I think it's fucking badass," Mikey pipes up from the bed, and Frank whirls around to look at him. "So does Toro," Mikey adds, totally nonchalant.

"Me, too," Bob agrees.

Frank kind of wants to laugh, so he closes his eyes and rubs them with the heels of his hands, hoping it might do what Mom claims it does, which is let all the anger out. They're all such fucking _idiots_.

He stands there for what feels like forever – enough that rubbing at his eyes feels good enough to want to do for the rest of time, and then his eyes begin to hurt, and when he opens them, Gerard's face looks like it's covered in spots.

"Fuck. You are such an asshole," Frank tells him.

Gerard cracks an uncertain smile and drops his head. "Yeah. I know."

Frank shakes his head and forces himself to step into the room and join the party.

*

"How did it _happen_? Gee told us you weren't, like, born like this," Toro says after Gerard's handed Frank a tumbler full of vodka and given him an encouraging look. Frank was instructed to knock it back quick, then another followed, and now he's sitting in the middle of the floor like he's a one-man show-and-tell.

"Fuck, you don't wanna fucking hear that shit, man, it's stupid," Frank tries to dodge, but of course it doesn't fucking work.

"Are you kidding? Of course we do!" Gerard exclaims, scooting closer. Frank squirms on the spot, rubbing at his every prickly itch. Mikey and Bob are practically hanging off the bed, their ears perked up like they're the ones with the wolf problem.

"It was the stupidest thing," Frank says finally, and doesn't look anywhere but his shoes. He plays with the shoelaces while he tries desperately not to picture the memories crowding around his brain. "I was a fucking Boy Scout, okay? Like. Literally. It was a camping trip. They were gonna teach us shit like how to light a fire and survive out in the wilderness and whatnot."

"Wow. Ironic, I guess," Bob says quietly to no one and a smattering of nervous laughter goes through the rest of them.

"Yeah," Frank agrees. "Exactly." He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "So, anyway, I had this friend, Joey, and Joey was in the Boy Scouts, but he was _not_ a Boy Scout, if you know what I mean." Frank cracks a smile despite himself. "After everyone had gone to sleep, he was all, like, hey, Frank, wanna do something fun? And I thought Joey was the cat's pajamas back then, so I was, like, yeah, totally!"

Frank snorts, thinking back to Joey Padalucci's deceptively angelic blond curls and mean streak. Frank worshipped Joey's abilities to fly from monkey bar to monkey bar and only break the bones he didn't need for further flying. Joey was a total ninja. He was also a world-class asshole, but ten year old Frank hadn't yet been taught the hard lessons of life.

"Anyway, we went off to search for whatever the fuck it was Joey had wanted to search for, right, and whoops, what do you know! We'd gone too far. Just like in every single horror movie ever, pretty much." Frank pauses to lick his dry lips, but doesn't stop playing with his shoelace. The stupid things they put on each end of it are flaking at the tips and he picks at them while trying to figure out how the fuck to continue. "I, uh, I was pretty scared, I guess, but I didn't want Joey knowing I was close to wetting my pants, so I was all, hey, I think whatever you're looking for is over thataway, where I knew the camp was." They'd walked for what felt like forever. Frank was terrified, jumping at every snapping twig, his blood running cold every time a bird fluttered by. There was an owl that wouldn't stop hooting, too. It was a full-on horror movie set out there.

And then came the howling. "It was kind of far away at first, but fucking wolves, you know? They can smell you, especially when you're scared shitless, and they're fucking _fast_." Frank's voice isn't shaking, but he feels cold suddenly and draws his arms closer in.

He feels Gerard twitch beside him and when he looks up, Gerard's staring at him, unblinking. Frank realizes that Gerard has already come face to face with it, too, only through glass and iron. He drops his gaze, then closes his eyes altogether.

The wolf was quick, but Frank could have gotten away. Joey had. Fearless Joey Padalucci ran screaming towards the camp, and Frank tried to follow when his foot snagged on a root and he fell face-first to the ground. "I tried to get up, but I'd banged my knee so hard, I thought I'd shattered it." It hurt so much, he didn't feel bad for the tears. He'd knocked out a tooth and split open his eyebrow. He can still remember the warm blood trickling down his face and how terrifying that alone had been.

And then – the wolf's face darting out from between dead branches; the horrifying, dripping muzzle; Frank's screams mingling with Joey's in the distance. Blood everywhere, he was soaked with it, and so much _pain_. His hands kept slipping beneath him from the slickness, coming away soaked with red. When he'd lost enough blood and screamed himself hoarse, he'd fainted.

"When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I guess one of the leaders had shot the wolf, but it was kind of too late at that point."

The room is silent for a minute. Frank tries to erase Mom's ashen face from memory; she was the first thing he saw when he came to. He can still hear her muffled yelling at the Scout Leader in the hospital hallway; the guy had been fired later.

"Shit," Mikey breathes out, and Bob echoes it. Gerard is quiet, but Frank is intensely aware of his heat, his attention.

"So, uhm." Ray clears his throat and continues, "How did you find out that it was, you know… Uhm."

Frank looks up. "Not your run-of-the-mill wolf?"

Ray nods.

"The hard way." He clears his throat. "But I was really young, so –"

"Like a cub?" Gerard interrupts and Frank looks up at him, startled.

"I guess. Yeah," he answers after a minute. "I didn't do _too_ much damage, and my mom… She got away. After that, she told my dad. It was real messy, but he was great about it."

He squeezes his hands together and mumbles into his drawn-up knees. "After all the, you know, what the fucks and this is impossibles, blah blah blah, Dad built up our basement like Fort fucking Knox. For werewolves."

Gerard's eyes are huge in the twilight dark of the basement. All the guys are watching Frank completely enthralled, mouths open. Frank can't decide if the walls are closing in or crumbling around him.

After a minute, Bob gets up and silently pours Frank another shot. "Here. And," he adds after Frank downs it gratefully, "Gee. Here." He refills the tumbler and Gerard downs it even quicker than Frank. "So, what's it like?" Bob asks after he's settled back onto the bed. "Like. Is it just one night or what?"

Frank squirms again. What the hell. "Yeah. But there's, like. Stuff happens beforehand."

"Yeah? What kind of stuff?" Ray wants to know.

"I, uhm." Oh, Jesus. Frank chews on his lips and says, "I get antsy? Like, itchy and – I don't know. I just know it's coming. Can't sit still, everything feels different, that kind of thing." He doesn't mean to catch Gerard's gaze just then, but when he does, Gerard's eyes grow suddenly huge, like a light sparking. No one else seems to notice, but Frank can feel himself blushing down to his roots.

"Dude, you're such a badass," Ray breathes and Frank laughs, because there's nothing else left for him to do.

*

Frank has talked himself raw. His voice is hoarse from it, or maybe it's that he spilled his guts over tumblers of vodka. Whatever it is, he's lightheaded and exhausted. The guys wanted to know everything down to the smallest fucking details, and somehow, he just couldn't make himself shut up. Everything came tumbling out in fits and starts.

It wasn't until Mom texted and asked if he knew what time it was and was he planning on maybe coming home sometime tonight, that Frank remembered he'd promised he'd be home early. Toro got a similar text the next minute, and in a flurry, everyone dispersed.

Everyone except Gerard, who wordlessly walked up the stairs after Frank, told Mrs. Way he was going out and would be back in an hour, and led them both out into the cold air.

It's already dark, of course, and so cloudy, you can't see a goddamn thing. Frank fucking loves cloudy nights.

"You gonna walk me home like a gentleman?" Frank tries to tease Gerard, and Gerard just shrugs, weirdly quiet. Frank swallows and sways a little on his feet. He shouldn't be going home like this, he thinks in a moment of clarity. When Gerard doesn't say anything still, he runs a hand through his hair and asks, "What? Are you – I mean."

He wants to know if it's okay, but the words keep getting stuck in his head before they ever make it out, because of course it isn't. It might have taken Gerard a while to get there, but Frank can bet it's all caught up with him now. The only question is, why is he even bothering to walk Frank home at all?

Gerard pauses mid-step and rests his hand on Frank's arm, forcing Frank to turn to him fully and look up into his eyes. They're close enough that the height difference suddenly matters.

"Frank, it's – " Gerard clears his throat and lowers his gaze. The street lamp extends the shadows of his eyelashes over his cheeks, and he's so pale, he's nearly a ghost, except for his cheeks, pink and practically glowing. Frank waits, his heart beating way too loud for the relatively quiet street. "You were talking, right, and you mentioned that – well, I mean. The full moon, right, you get – you know," Gerard waves a hand around, and Frank feels the flush come over him from what feels like his belly button up. "Antsy, right?"

Frank nods, wondering how he can squirm out of this conversation.

"Well, I was just – I mean. The first time we, uh." Gerard pauses and shakes his head, looking everywhere but at Frank. He's focusing on some raccoon scrabbling over somebody's porch when he says, "The sex thing. Uhm. Do you – is it a full moon thing? Like. It makes you want it, right?"

Frank's face is radiating with heat, and he reaches up to scratch an itch on his neck. "I mean." Jesus, he's so over this whole talking thing. "I. Yeah? Kind… kinda? It just. I –"

"I mean, it's fine, I was just –"

"I get really, really, uh –"

"Horny?"

"What?"

Gerard looks down at him and Frank is looking up, and he has no idea what is even happening. He's kind of dizzy and uncomfortable and he knows Gerard's expecting an answer of some kind, Frank's brain is just done supplying him with anything. Finally, he shakes his head to clear it and, fuck it. Why not. "Yeah. Like. More than anything, I guess. It isn't – it isn't just that, but…mostly. I guess."

Gerard nods, like it makes total sense, and Frank doesn't know why he thinks Gerard looks like he wants to ask him something else, but he just stands there, looking at Frank, but somehow maybe even _through_ him. Like he's actually really far away somewhere, and not with Frank at all.

They start up walking after a while, quiet again.

They're almost halfway to Frank's house when Gerard pauses and turns them to face each other. It's like he can't chew gum and walk at the same time – if he's talking, he's standing still, except for his hands, flying everywhere. Frank would find it funny any other time, but he's tired, of the day, and of explaining himself, and of the questions.

"Yeah?" he asks, unnecessarily harsh maybe, so he tries to smooth it over with a nice expression. He isn't sure he's all that successful.

"Sorry, I just thought of something else," Gerard says, and he doesn't actually sound sorry, he sounds kind of freaked out. Frank thinks, this is it. "I've been, well. I mean. I read up a little? Not, like, on werewolves, obviously, ‘cause I just –"

"Found a bunch of crap on the internet?" Frank supplies, trying to picture what, exactly, Gerard had time to read up on. When Frank went searching shit out, he just got a bunch of odes to fucking Remus Lupin and even a recipe for Snape's Wolfsbane potion.

Gerard giggles and nods, "Yeah. But, like." He screws up his eyes again and shakes himself out, like he doesn't want to be asking whatever it is he's going to ask.

"What?" Frank asks impatiently. Gerard's never had a problem with asking questions before.

Gerard slaps a hand over his eyes and asks, "Did you mate for life?"

" _What?_ " Frank's jaw actually drops open.

Gerard groans and laughs at the same time, then flaps both hands around and scratches at his head. "I'm sorry, I just – I read up on wolves, and I guess, you know… Packs and – and somewhere, it said wolves mate for life, and you're, you know – of the – age or whatever, I guess, and –"

Frank knows it's probably mean, but he can't help it – the giggles well up in his belly, and run all the way up until they explode out of his throat, and he laughs so hard, his stomach cramps up. He doubles over and giggles himself stupid right in the middle of the fucking sidewalk, with tears welling up in his eyes, while Gerard stands across from him, groaning and laughing along.

It should be a ridiculous, dumb question, but the real kicker is _Frank doesn't know._

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Gerard complains through giggles of his own. "I don't know about this shit, come _on_. Frankie, come on, stop fucking – stop laughing, you jerk!"

Frank manages to right himself again and when he's done laughing at Gerard's bright red face, he wipes at his eyes and shakes his head. "Fuck, Gee. I – I have no _idea_." As soon as he says it, the hysterical laughter is back and he falls against Gerard's shoulder and laughs until his whole body shakes with it. The thought never even crossed his goddamn _mind._ "I guess," he says and hiccups, sniggering more, "I guess I'll just have to, oh God, I'll just have to find out, won't I?"

*

By the time they reach Frank's door, he's done laughing, and so is Gerard. Frank is mostly sober now, really, but the lightheadedness hasn't gone away. He's exhausted. He can't even process anything from today, his brain's switched off, like he's some kind of droid.

He's already on the first step, keys at the ready, when Gerard whispers, "Wait," and tugs Frank back around. The one step that Frank is on brings them directly face to face. Frank swallows.

"Yeah?"

Gerard's eyebrows are a picture of concern, but the rest of him is almost relaxed. The porch light's been out for a week now, they haven't gotten it fixed yet, so the only light reaching the two of them now is the streetlight from nearly a block away. Gerard looks beautiful even in the dark, his gaze focused directly on Frank.

"Thanks," he says quietly. "For, you know. Telling me. And… I'm sorry I told, I just. I knew they'd be cool about it, you know?"

Frank doesn't, but he's not going anywhere near it right now, so he just shrugs like it's no big deal. "Okay."

A flicker of a frown passes over Gerard's face. "Okay. And, well, just. I." He breaks off, looking frustrated, then leans in suddenly and kisses Frank. Frank should have expected it, probably, but he didn't. His eyes shut automatically at the soft feel of it, nothing like how they kiss when the moon is near, when they're fucking. This kiss, just their lips pressed up against each other, lasts long enough for his chest to start pounding a hollow, steady beat, and for his lungs to lose all breath. He whimpers and presses closer, wondering if Gerard can feel it through their clothes. Gerard opens his mouth and deepens the kiss.

Frank doesn't care what happens tomorrow. He doesn't ever want it to come.


	4. Fourth Moon

"Frank, get in here, I have to talk to you," Mom calls out from the den, and Frank drops the pop tart he was eating like a hot potato. He follows her directions kind of slowly, trying to figure what he's done wrong, because she sounds weirdly tense. When he gets there, she's curled up under her favorite afghan in front of the TV, but it's off, and she's clutching the phone in her hand like she's forgotten it's even there.

"What's up?" he asks casually, like he isn't waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She nods for him to sit next to her. "This is kind of serious, Frank."

Frank's heart jumps in his throat, and he wracks his brain for what she could possibly be talking about. Then he thinks back on school; Gerard; their _closet._ His swallows and numbly sits down on the couch as far away from her as he can get.

"Baby, are you running fever?" She makes a move like she wants to touch his forehead, frowning. "You're kind of flushed."

He shakes his head without opening his mouth, then when he is certain that he won't vomit the first chance he gets, he asks, "What is it? You're kind of freaking me out here."

Her expression immediately switches back from concerned to serious, hand retreating. "Right. Okay." She takes a deep breath, and Frank thinks, this is it, he's done for, he's getting the gay sex talk. "Your Aunt Josephine is really ill."

For a second he thinks they've switched records mid-way, because none of the words that just came out of her mouth make any sort of sense to him. "Wait. Who?"

She rolls her eyes, but kind of cracks a smile. "Okay, _my_ Aunt Josephine. She's the one in Delaware?" Frank knows he looks like a total idiot right now, but he's pretty sure he didn't even know they had relatives below Atlantic City. "I _told_ you about her, I know I did! She's the one who – well, never mind now, never mind." She draws an impatient hand across her forehead. "The point is, I have to get down there as soon as possible, and I have no idea how long I'll be away. I might even be staying for a funeral, once I'm down there."

Frank nods slowly, still trying to figure out how this is serious, apart from sad, of course, because Mom's aunt he didn't even know about is dying. And then his mind races ahead of him to the days he'll have to be master of his domain, and it catches up with him the next second. "Oh. Oh, _shit!_ "

He immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, but she doesn't even blink at the swearing, just nods, mouth pinched. Frank notices how the dim lamp is throwing her wrinkles into deep relief. He never noticed she had so many.

"Yeah," she sighs. "I just called your father to see if he can make it down for the full moon, at least stay the night, but he's on a business trip, Melanie says. Won't be back till next week, at the earliest."

 _Fuck._ They can't exactly ask Melanie, because no other Iero in existence knows about this shit. "What are we gonna do?"

She sighs and curls up more under the covers. "I don't know, Frankie. Marilyn would never forgive me if I didn't go. Josephine was a huge help to me when I was in college, and first met your father… _I_ would never forgive myself if I didn't say goodbye." She looks so far away and sad that Frank drops his gaze. _He's_ doing this, making a difficult thing even harder. "I don't suppose I could take you with me and rig something up on the fly, huh?" she jokes, but Frank suddenly has a brain wave.

"Wait, wait. I think –" he swallows the rest of the words with the dread welling up in his stomach. He could. He _could_ ask Gerard to lock him up for the night and throw away the key ‘til morning, but Mom doesn't know. She doesn't know anything about Gerard, except that he's Frank's friend who came breaking down her door and saved Frank's backpack from being lost to goons forever.

"What is it?" she asks, eyebrows drawn.

Frank swallows hard and thinks, this is it. This is the gay sex talk. His heart pounds heavily in his chest as he opens his mouth. "I want you to go, okay? But I gotta, uhm. I gotta tell you something first, all right?"

If possible, Mom looks even more serious, but he's glad now. She should. He swallows again and when his hands begin to hurt, he looks down and watches them wringing the afghan on the couch, twisting it into a tight rope. He frowns, vaguely wondering when that happened, and takes a deep breath. "Okay, so. I could get Gerard to help, I think."

"Frankie –"

"No, Mom, wait." He looks up at her briefly, just to make sure she doesn't interrupt, then drops his gaze back down to his white-knuckled hands. "He knows, he – he kind of found out. By accident."

He checks on her again, and whoa, she just went ten shades of white in front of his eyes. He lunges forward and grabs onto her knees without thinking.

"It's okay, Mom! I really – I think it's okay. He's not gonna tell anyone, okay?" Apart from the guys, but Frank squashes down the thought. He tries to relate to her his own blind trust in Gerard through the power of his mind. "He kind of thinks it's cool, actually." Nervous giggles well up in his belly, and he tries to stop them, he really does, but how can anyone ever fight that shit?

"Frank, this isn't – it's not funny, this is serious!" she snaps. "What do you mean he found out by accident?" She sits up, finally dropping the phone, and Frank falls back into the couch, clutching his stomach. His life is _insane_ and he can't stop laughing. "Frankie!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he stammers and tries to compose himself. When he lolls his head against the back of the couch, still giggling, Mom is watching him expectantly, still pale as a sheet. He sobers and faces her fully. "Okay, so. He… I don't know why, he was going to stop by, I guess, on the night of the last full moon, and he – walked by the basement window?"

He waits for her to ask him why Gerard was wandering around their backyard after dark, and Frank really doesn't want to get into the whole "cemeteries are also cool" thing with her, but all she does is go, "And?" in a tightly controlled sort of voice he's been scared of from birth.

He forces his throat to unclench. "And – he saw me, you know… The wolf, I – I must have lunged for the window or something, I don't know… Anyway, he saw, and, like – asked me about it in school next time he saw me." The laughter's gone now, all he feels is a sick kind of free-fall in the pit of his stomach. He thinks it might be growing.

"Frankie," she breathes, then rubs her forehead with one hand, before drooping sideways against the back of the couch. "Baby, he – how do you know he won't tell?"

Frank shrugs and picks at the fuzzies shed by the afghan. "Because he knows it's important. To me."

"You haven't known this boy that long, how can you trust him?" she asks quietly, but something about her tone makes Frank look up at her and really _look_. She's watching him back a little too calmly, waiting for the answer.

Frank has no idea _what_ it is, though. He doesn't fully trust Gerard not to spill – it's already happened once. But Gerard's got a code about friends, like they're a part of him; he couldn't have understood it fully unless he told his guys. But parents and adults don't count like that. That, at least, Frank knows.

"Because he's – because we're – I'm -"

"Yeah, baby?" she whispers, and Frank sags down like a deflated balloon.

"We're, you know." He swallows against the dizzying free-fall of the drop that blooms out in his stomach, making him want to vomit. He mans up after he shuts his eyes. "We're, like. Together."

"Is he your boyfriend?" she asks quietly and Frank nods slowly without opening his eyes.

"Kind of. I guess."

She doesn't answer, but reaches out to grab his hand and gives him a hard squeeze. He squeezes back and only then dares to look up. She's got a small smile on her lips and she's giving him such a sappy _Mom_ look that he squirms and looks away, but doesn't drop her hand.

"Baby, were you scared to tell me?" she asks after a while, and he says, "Yeah. _Duh._ "

"Well, I obviously understand why, but I'm glad you did, okay, Frankie?" He nods, still not looking at her, and she shakes his hand a little and goes, "Hey, kiddo. Look at me, will you?"

He rolls his eyes, but of course he obeys, peering at her from under his eyebrows. "What?"

"I'm _saying_ , I'm very glad you told me," she answers, watching him like a hawk. "I can't say that I'm all that – surprised, I suppose."

What? " _What_?"

"Oh, come on," she chuckles, rolling her eyes at him and letting go of his hand. "He practically beat the door down to look at you when you were home sick. Not exactly the silent type, is he?"

Frank cracks up despite himself, and settles back against the couch. "So, you're. Okay?"

"With you having a boyfriend? Yes, I am. With him being the one to watch over you when I'm away?" She pauses and watches him for a while, head tilted, like she's considering him, Gerard, and maybe the entire planet Earth. "I don't know, Frankie," she sighs. "Let me think about it. And you ask Gerard, I suppose." She sounds just a little bewildered, but Frank will take it. He will take it and run with it. " _But_ ," she adds in a firmer voice, pinning him with a stare. " _If_ I say yes, _and_ his parents agree to a sleepover, God help them –"

Frank bites his lip, insides churning. "Yeah?"

"He is _only_ to stay over the one night." She pauses, not looking away or even blinking. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Frank really, _really_ does. And he is really, _really_ wishing he wasn't in the room with her right now. And he is really, _really_ sorry in advance. "Uh. Yeah," he says.

"Yeah?" she asks, grabbing his wrist. "Let's say it anyway, to make me feel better, ‘kay?"

Frank pleads silently that she _doesn't_. Her grip is cutting off the circulation to his entire arm.

" _No_ sex," she declares in a tone that would make a general proud and makes Frank swallow his tongue. " _No_ sleepover the night before or after. And, no need to say this, but I – I hope you're careful, Frankie," she adds in a quieter voice, forcing Frank to seriously wish the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He looks anywhere but at her and feels his entire face flushing.

" _Mom_ -"

"Frankie? I'm serious," she snaps, and he can feel her leaning forward, looming over him. "You are only seventeen years old, you got me? You're not an adult yet. You're not even in _college_."

When he finally forces himself to look her in the eye, she's watching him with her eyebrows drawn tight. She's pale, with tiny wispy wrinkles rising over her top lip. He forces himself to nod and agree, knowing that he's a lying shit, but the less she knows, the better off she'll be.

"Got it, Mom," he finally agrees after he clears his throat about a thousand times.

"Okay," she sighs, sounding a little calmer. She lets go of his wrist and gathers the afghan back around her lap. "Let me think about it, baby, okay?"

"Sure. Okay." His heart is pounding, and he feels vaguely sick, so he legs it out of the room as soon as she slides her book off the end table and settles it on her lap.

Then he slams his door shut, flops down on the bed and composes about a million texts before finally settling on "call me I got a question" and hitting send.

He can barely sleep that night. She knows. _She knows._ Would she tell Dad? Would she make Frank tell him?

She knows. She's _fine._ She _knows._

Gerard is his boyfriend, and Mom _knows._

At some point, between the relief and the fear, he snags on a welling up of an enormous sort of embarrassment. Jesus. His mom knows he likes _dick_. That is a thought Frank wishes had never ever crossed his mind. _Gross._

*

It takes Mom until the next night to admit that there is no better option, and by then, Gerard has agreed a million times, and made the sleepover a solid deal with his parents.

Some sleepover, but at least Frank can let Mom go and rest kind of easy without feeling like the world's biggest douchebag. Well, mostly. He'll just get Gerard to lock him up before the sun even thinks of setting, or the moon of rising. It'll be fine. He'll be totally fine.

*

The door shuts behind him with a hollow bang, and the hallway is pretty deserted. That's good. That's really fucking good. Frank's running past lockers and skidding across the linoleum floor, and then he's at the bend that'll take him to his closet – just a little more, it's just a little –

He can barely get the lock wiggled open, but it finally gives it up and he's in, the door banging behind him, and his fingers fumble to latch that shit as soon as he's in.

He curses and shoves at his pants, almost crying with how much he fucking needs to get off. He's at the boiling point again, his skin is crawling right the fuck off his body. Once the zipper's down, he shoves at the whole set-up until his dick's exposed enough, and goes for it.

The first stroke feels like a punch to the face. He moans and braces himself on the wall with one arm, pressing his hot face against it. His hand is flying over his dick, his heart pounding a heavy erratic beat against his ribs, when Gerard's scent hits him – is it real or imagined? – and before he knows it, his balls are drawing up, his gut wrenching from the free-fall, and he's shooting all over the wall. He muffles his shout with a bite to his arm and then freezes.

It's real. Gerard's near-by, and Frank sniffs, testing the air. Whatever Gerard's feeling, he isn't focused on class.

One-handed, Frank flips open his phone. _where r u_ , he texts.

 _where r U?_

Frank answers, then pushes himself away from the wall. The deep buzzing of desire in his belly has already started, and all he has to do is run his hand over his dick before it's hardening back to life, sticky with his come and jonesing for more.

He bites his lip in an attempt to stifle his moan, then gives his dick another stroke. It jumps in his hand and he squeezes the base, _down boy._ He can do this. He can wait. His heart hammers in his chest, his own breathing way too loud to his ears in the dark room. _Fuck._ Gerard. _Gerard._ He blinks to get the sting out of his eyes.

By the time Gerard knocks twice on the flimsy door, Frank is so fucking desperate for it, he's just barely hanging on. He flicks open the hook and Gerard barges in, back-lit, already hard.

"Thank God –"

"What do you want, Frankie?" Gerard whispers immediately, shutting the door behind him and cutting off the strip of light from the hallway. He's a breath away from Frank in a second, his clammy hands gripping Frank's face. "Tell me what to do, I'll fucking do anything –"

Frank whimpers and claws at him, reels him in by the shoulders and shoves his tongue in Gerard's mouth, practically hanging off of him. Gerard makes a noise that travels all the way down Frank's throat, and kisses him back. His mouth tastes so fucking good, like pheromones or something, sexy as hell, and Frank has to force himself to pull away so he can speak.

"I need - suck me off, please, _please_ ," he begs, but before he's even gotten all the words out of his dry throat, Gerard is already sliding down to his knees in front of him, both hands reaching for Frank's hips and pulling him in. Frank slaps a hand over his mouth so he doesn't give them away and all but shoves his dick down Gerard's throat.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Gerard's so fucking good at that, better than when they first started going at it. His mouth is tight-tight-hot, and so fucking wet, Frank's dick meets with no friction and no obstacle. Gerard's fucking deep-throating Frank, lips stretched wide and taking it without a sound of protest.

Frank grabs fistfuls of his hair and doesn't even try not to fuck his mouth, he's too far gone. Gerard's hot even in the dark. The closet reeks of them, a reverberation of _sex_ pounding over the walls like ping-pong balls, setting Frank's skin and guts on fire. The sounds of his dick sliding between Gerard's wet lips are obscene, ratcheting him up even higher. He tries to hold off and enjoy the best fucking blowjob of his life, but his mutant blood is stronger, and quicker.

He squeezes Gerard's hair just to give him some warning and doubles over with how hard he comes, mouth open in a wordless shout. He's still trembling when Gerard pulls off and collapses with his face smushed into Frank's bare hip. He wraps his arms loosely around Frank's waist and just pants against him, gulping in air, while Frank holds on and tries to get his breathing back to a semblance of normal.

For a long moment, they just breathe in the waiting quiet, then Gerard moves his head until he's looking up at Frank with huge stark eyes and licks his cracked lips. "Frankie –"

Frank nods frantically without knowing what he's agreeing to and pushes away from him enough to pull up and zip his pants and slide down to his knees. The need's not so immediate after two rounds, but it's _there_ , and it's his turn to get to some dick.

"Come here," he rasps and butt-walks until his back hits the wall. "Come here," he repeats and prods and pulls at Gerard until he gets the idea and slides between Frank's knees, his back to Frank's chest.

Gerard's hard as a rock, breathing kind of erratically, and when they both fumble his pants open, he gives a quick shout before Frank can shut him up with his hand.

"Shhh, Gee, shh, please –"

Gerard whimpers into Frank's palm, his head thrown back onto Frank's shoulder.

"I know," Frank whispers and almost whimpers himself when his hand closes around Gerard's hot cock, already leaking. " _Fuck_ , you're so fucking hot," he mumbles, burying his nose in the crook of Gerard's neck and latching on with his mouth. Gerard scrambles against him, shoving himself closer, and his dick jumps in Frank's hand.

Frank doesn't let go of Gerard's neck as he jerks him off. Frank is probably breathing, but it doesn't feel like it, because his entire body is pounding with focus on Gerard. All he can smell is Gerard all over him, all he can feel is his hard, silky smooth dick sliding quickly in his hand, wet and getting wetter. The angle's so fucking good like this, because his arm doesn't cramp, he can go and go and go.

Gerard's body tenses too soon and he grabs onto Frank's thighs and squeezes before Frank feels the surge through his cock, and then Gerard's _keening_ under his hand and shooting all over Frank's quick-moving fist, again and again, until Frank's pumping him through nothing.

Gerard shakes off the hand clamping down his mouth and hisses, and only then does Frank drop his other hand from his dick. While Gerard takes quick breaths, every inhale reverberating through Frank's chest, Frank licks his hand clean, relishing the taste of Gerard on his fingers.

"Oh, fucking hell," Gerard whimpers and sprawls until he's boneless between Frank's legs. "Jesus, Frankie."

Frank squeezes his arm with his clean hand, and doesn't answer. He knows.

He's kind of hard again, too – he could go again. But they're in fucking _school_ and even when he's a fucking lunatic, he sort of knows better now.

"My mom's already gone," he says after he's licked Gerard's come off his whole hand.

"Wait for me at the gate," Gerard responds immediately, and Frank squeezes his arm again.

Fuck _yes_ , he will wait for him by the gate.

*

Gerard's moans are getting soaked into Frank's pillow, and Frank is losing his fucking mind. Gerard's ass is so fucking _tight_ , and Frank used enough fucking lube to ensure that the slide was easy, and it fucking is – easy and hot and better than before, better than anything.

Better, because he can drape himself all over Gerard's back, plaster himself to his naked, sweaty skin, and let himself go. Gerard's cries get louder every time Frank pounds into him, again and again, tiny staccato _ah's_ wrenched out of his throat, and maybe their bodies are falling apart and disintegrating because he can feel the vibrations of Gerard's voice wracking his own chest. He's a fucking dog in heat, he can't stop, he can't _stop_.

Gerard moves his head enough to gasp out, "Frank – Frankie, _God_ ," and then he's coming under Frank, his ass spasming and twitching, squeezing the fuck out of Frank's cock, _Jesus,_ he will never get used to this, never.

Frank moans and drops his head enough to feel Gerard's hot face, his hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks. When Frank comes, Gerard's broken voice echoes in his head like a loop of an infinite moment. Frank couldn't get his breath back if he tried.

*

They're both still breathing a bit too hard and uneven when something jogs Frank's memory and he turns his head on the pillow to look at Gerard.

"Hey, I think that chick, what's her name – Rose's blonde friend?"

"Becky?" Gerard asks, looking surprised.

"Yeah!" At least Frank thinks that's her. "Yeah, I think she was, like – after that thing with Warner, you know, I think she was flirting with me?"

Gerard grins a little, turning his body fully towards Frank, the sheets rustling around him. "Oh, yeah? D'you run away?"

"Haha," Frank answers drily. That's not his point, not really. It's been bothering him a bit at the back of his mind since then, and he's never put a finger on why, not until today. "What was weird is…doesn't she know I'm a fag?" Gerard's eyebrow flickers. "I mean, the rest of them do, that's why they're all – you know –"

"All over you?" Gerard asks carefully. His hand twitches a bit on the pillow.

"Yeah," Frank answers, frowning. "Like…if I'm such a fucking fag, why was she flirting? I mean, it probably wasn't that – fuck, _whatever_ , but just –"

"They don't really think you are, is the thing," Gerard says quietly, looking somewhere beyond Frank. "That's kind of why they're such assholes. I mean, not _just_ -"

"What?" Frank frowns. "Of course they fucking do. Why would they –"

Gerard shakes his head and when he looks back at Frank, he almost looks _sad._ Sad and weirdly _old_ \- not like an 80 year old grandpa or anything, but like someone who's been around a thousand years, a fucking Ent, maybe. "If they really thought you were a fag, they wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. They're fucking _scared_ of us, you know?"

Frank is pretty sure he's staring like an idiot, but he can't help himself. "Gee, that doesn't make sense, of course they –"

But Gerard doesn't let him finish. He's animated now, eyes kind of flashy and greener than normal, his face stark and pale except for the bright pink spots on his cheeks. "They push you around because you're, like, amorphous, they don't know _what_ the fuck you are, but they don't _actually_ believe you suck dick either, okay?" he says, every word precise and hard. "It's, like – Becky whatever-her-face can't imagine that you'd be gay because she's probably never met an out person in her whole life, not in _this_ fucking school."

"So –"

"So, like, she knows you get called names, maybe, but that's just ‘boys being boys' – when it comes down to it, she can't imagine you wouldn't be into her. She's pretty, right?"

Frank can't make heads or tails of this, it's so bizarre. What else has he been getting the crap beaten out of him if not for sucking dick? Or, like, wanting to suck dick. Or – "I don't know if I buy that," Frank says finally, but gives Gerard a quick smile. "But I wouldn't touch Becky what's-her-face with a ten foot pole, either."

"Fag," Gerard shoots back, but his face is almost back to normal, softer around the edges.

Frank snorts and cracks up. "Same to fucking you," he tells him in between bouts of giggles, then leans in to press his lips against Gerard's, carefully touching his naked hip.

But even afterwards, after Gerard finally leaves to go back to his own house – Frank barely able to let him slip out of his arms, much less disappear out into the dark – he can't help thinking maybe Gerard is onto something. Maybe all those asswipes are fucking terrified that he'll snap one day and suck _their_ dicks, and maybe they fucking should be. Or should have been. Frank isn't in the habit of blowing random dudes in bathrooms anymore. Good thing he only tried it the once.

*

It's the day of the moon, and Frank is on the verge of losing his mind. He texts Gerard from World History.

 _meet me @ west exit need 2 make a run for it_

There are two more classes to go, but he can barely last through the last ten minutes of this one. He's been vibrating for the last forty minutes, and it's felt like forever. Rain pounds on the windows, and he isn't looking forward to getting wet in this cold, but it's still better than trying to suffer through school like this.

Gerard's answer is pretty instantaneous and brief. _Y._

Frank races to his locker, exchanges his books, grabs his good headphones, drops his good headphones, picks them back up, stuffs them in his bag, and tries to blend into the walls as he creeps along and out of the school. He gets soaked in nature's cold fucking shower almost instantly, but the rain works in his favor. Nobody is outside, or even patrolling the exits at all. He waits by the furthest gate until he sees a dark figure sprinting in his direction. He's shivering so hard by the time Gerard gets to him that he doesn't even say anything. He just grabs Gerard's hand and they take off at a run, pounding against the driving wind.

He's gulping in more water than air as he runs, and he can hear Gerard panting behind him, smelling like raw ground and adrenaline. Frank feels a rush of joy at the wind and all the smells around him. He aches with how much he just wants to run until he changes, run until he hits the graveyard, and then weave in and out between the gravestones, feeling the cold damp ground beneath his paws, and then – deeper into the woods, running until the morning comes.

He tamps it down. He can't.

But he will take this.

He gets a stitch in his side just as they round the bend of the cemetery. His feet slip and slide on the wet grass, and he almost skids off the path when he staggers to a halt to try and catch his breath. Gerard is bent over with one hand over his belly when Frank turns to check on him, and Frank would probably hear him panting if it weren't for the downpour. Gerard looks like a wet dog, and he pretty much smells like it, too.

Frank doesn't make the decision consciously only because it happens so fast, but he's instantly aware of Gerard's cold wet hand pressed into his, and Gerard's equally freezing and soaking mouth against his lips. It's more frustration than pleasure, really, but Frank can't stop himself from trying to burrow deeper. He presses his entire body up against Gerard's, their clothes squelching against his chest and thighs and instant hard-on. Gerard gasps into his mouth – maybe from the cold, or maybe just from the contact. Frank can't tell. He's breathing in Gerard's scent, that raw, hard smell that he can never seem to get enough of. Gerard exudes it, and as they stand there, dripping and stupid in the rain, Frank gorges himself on the freedom of getting to do this.

When Gerard finally pulls away, he's smiling, and Frank gets caught watching the way the drops stream from his forehead and eyelashes and drop off his nose.

"We should, like, get inside, right?" Gerard asks, still smiling. "I'm so fucking wet, I can't handle it."

Frank shakes his head and the way the rain beats against his ears reminds him that he kind of hates getting caught in the rain like this. So weird. "Yeah, fuck, sorry."

He tugs Gerard by the hand and leads him through the brush that edges the cemetery. When they finally jog up to his house, there are three damp-looking figures stooped under the front awning.

"What –"

"Uh, I kind of – asked the guys to be here? I figured you might want, like…reinforcements." Gerard shrugs as he tells Frank this, and doesn't quite look at him. Neither do the guys, really, they just stand there, shifting foot to foot, giving him silent waves and nodding their heads.

Frank thinks that maybe _Gerard_ wanted those reinforcements, but he wouldn't blame him one bit. If he bristles at the thought that maybe they were all curious about his moon habits, he chooses not to dwell. And he's always felt uneasy about his mom always being alone up in the house while he tore the basement all to shreds. It's probably better that Gerard not be by himself.

"Fine with me," he answers with a slightly heavy heart, and goes to unlock the door.

Once everyone's inside and dripping on the linoleum in the hallway, Frank tries to figure out what next. Are they planning on staying the night? Does he even have enough space to put them all? Why can't he be a normal human being who has sleepovers for actual fun, and not to make sure he doesn't get out and eat someone by accident? Jesus, Mom might actually kill him over this.

"Uh, so, like. I guess I'll get you guys towels and shit?"

They grunt in assent as they start to strip off all their wet shit, which is when Frank notices that Toro's got a sleeping bag on his shoulders, and Bob is holding onto a duffel the size of Frank's torso. Mikey droopily slides off his kicks while dropping his own backpack onto the floor. Frank swallows and after stripping off his coat and disgusting sneakers, heads down the hallway to the bathroom.

He has to stop and take deep breaths for a minute; his lungs keep constricting. While he was running, the pain had lessened, receded to the background when it was just him and Gerard. It slams back into him full force now, in the warm, quiet bathroom of his warm, quiet house, and he can't stop the cry from escaping.

"Shit, fuck, _fuck_ ," he pants and screws up his eyes, biting his lip so hard he makes it bleed. His spine billows and he rocks through it, feels like he's been set on fire. It's – it's too early for this shit, it's not even _four_ , what the hell. Fuck, he hates the short fall days.

His hands ache and he tries to unclench them where he'd grabbed onto the doorframe. Shit. The towels. Right.

"Frank, you okay?"

Frank jumps and turns around. Gerard is hovering right behind him, a dark looming shadow. Frank pushes away from the door and turns his back to Gerard, pretending to look for towels. "Yep, just, you know. Yeah."

Gerard is still behind him when Frank turns around, a stack of towels bundled in his arms. "Here, take these to the guys, I'll go, uhm. Stuff," he mumbles without looking at him, and runs off in the other direction. He needs to get them sheets, right? They're guests. They're gonna need sheets.

He's maybe got a good twenty minutes in him before it really hits, and then they're on their own. What a crappy host he's turning out to be.

He roots around the back closet for a while, groaning through the short bursts of pain that start coming faster and harder. Maybe not even twenty minutes, now.

When he finally makes it back to the living room, the guys have already toweled off and everyone except for Gerard is wearing dry clothes which look suspiciously like the stuff they sleep in. Gerard, on the other hand, is standing around sheepishly, by the looks of it trying not to get the rug wet.

Frank barely stifles a laugh. "Mikey, you didn't bring him an extra shirt or anything?"

Mikey shrugs. "He didn't pack his bag in time, so no."

It really clicks way too late. "How long ago did you _plan_ this?"

He's asking Gerard, but it's Ray who pipes up first. "He told us last week, so we thought we'd, like, tag along and see what –"

Bob punches Ray on the arm, and Ray immediately trails off, looking kind of scared. Frank can probably guess how the rest of that was going to go. He shrugs it off as much as he can. "Well, cool. Wouldn't want Gee to be holed up in a weirdo house with a wolf howling in the basement or anything."

"Shit, will we really hear you howling?" Ray asks, eyes wide, and Frank almost hates to disappoint him.

"Sorry, dude, that shit's soundproofed." He wants to add something else, like maybe about all the extra fucking crap his dad's done to the basement to make sure Frank doesn't get out, or how they should feel free to call out for pizza because he's got no food for them or anything, but then it hits him. For real, this time, he can feel the pain blooming up from his toes up, the quicksilver flash of it, hitting him from every angle. He doubles up and drops to the floor, the sheets spilling out of his hands and cushioning his fall like an afterthought.

Shit, he's waited too late – he won't – he's not gonna make it, Jesus, he can feel it – what the fuck was he _thinking_ -

"Frank!"

"Frankie?"

"Shit, grab him, get him downstairs –"

"Aw, _fuck_."

Frank vomits right onto the rug his mom loves so much and all over the sheets, the bile bitter and stifling. He gasps and tries to struggle to his feet, but he can't force his legs to move right, they're shifting too much, resetting into a shape he can't control –

Before he can yell for them all to _get the fuck away_ , he's grabbed on all sides and hauled upwards. The rush of cold fear hits him hard and he wants to lash out, he's _salivating_. He wants to snap his jaws and grab that fear by the throat, but he's not strong enough yet, everything's spinning and filling with darkness; he can't get a grip on a single thought, not a single action.

"Where is –"

"Down here, I think, fuck, _fuck_ , I didn't –"

"Careful!"

He's being dragged fast and hard down the hall, then shoved down the stairs – the silver door handle slides against his skin and he howls out in pain, his teeth creaking in his mouth, puncturing the gums. He can feel his own blood flood his mouth, the dull metallic taste overwhelming his senses.

The panicked voices all around him begin to fade, no longer making any sense; they're nothing but a nuisance, just an echo of the sharp scent of fear billowing out all around him.

The claws tear through by the time he's on the cold cement floor.

His vision fills with red.

The door slams and he jumps against it, rattling it, but it's useless, it won't budge.

The wolf tries to chase that other scent, familiar and necessary and so very, very _close_. When the scent starts to recede further and further away, the wolf lunges at the door, howls, and begins to tear at itself in desperation.

*

Frank wakes up coughing. He's face down in the straw and when he moves, it scratches and pokes him all over – in his eyes and over his raw skin, the bruises waking up to pain one by one. His arms tremble when he tries to lift himself up, but don't do much good. He flops uselessly down and watches the grey light turn a little brighter through the slats in the window. His mouth tastes like death, and he can feel where a couple cuts have opened up, blood trickling warmly down his legs and arms. He'd moan in pain, but that would take too much energy. Instead, he lies and waits.

*

He wakes up again to hushed voices. Everything aches, and his throat's so dry, he can barely swallow the bile that's built up in his mouth. He curls up tighter into himself and really wants to die.

Sudden thumps down the stairs rattle all the demons in Frank's brain into an Irish jig of some kind. He keeps his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see their reactions to seeing him like this.

"Shit, Frankie…" Gerard. "Bob, help me –"

"I got it, Gee. Here, hang on."

Gentle hands slide over Frank's skin and he hisses through it, because gentle right now is not gentle enough. His mom usually brings a blanket down, but he hadn't even warned the guys he'd be naked. Fuck, he hadn't exactly warned them of much of anything. He's shivering harder now, as if knowing there's no warmth coming sends his body into a panic, and there's no relief.

Somebody's lifting him awkwardly up, and he finally forces himself to unclench, open his eyes, and stop being a pussy.

"Frank, wait –"

"Mgh…m'fine," he croaks and stumbles to his feet, glancing at his shredded clothes thrown into a corner. _Fuck_ , Mom's going to kill him.

It's Gerard who catches him around the ribs, and Bob is already at his back, Frank can feel him hovering. But he's fine. He does this with his mom, he can do it now. He concentrates on not making any noise as he lets them herd him up the stairs, past the door, and through the hallway. He catches sight of Ray and Mikey's socked feet, and he wonders where they'd all slept. He hadn't even…

He hadn't…

The hot terror of the memory hits him like a freight train. He hadn't even made up their beds, because he almost turned _right in front of them._ He stops short and then doubles over as his stomach cramps and his head dizzies, but all that he brings up is more gut-wrenching coughing.

"Frank?"

Out of nowhere a glass of water appears, held up by Gerard's pale fingers, and he wants to knock it away, scream at them to get the fuck away from him, _he isn't safe_ , but he reaches for the glass almost by instinct, and gulps the water down like he's dying. It feels like it, anyway, and he's so goddamn _tired._

He's just so tired of keeping his shit together, of having to negotiate everything from simple movement to how to avoid killing his fucking friends. He wants to sleep and not wake up for days, maybe months, or years.

He milks the water until the very last drop, then wordlessly hands the glass back. He glimpses Gerard's worried face for the first time, and the rest of the guys come into focus behind him, with Ray's hair hovering in Frank's periphery.

Gerard's eyebrows are drawn into a sad arc, his eyes beneath them bright and huge. He's even paler in the shadow of the hallway, and focused so completely on Frank that Frank has to look away. He just. He needs to not think for a while.

"Thanks, guys, I can, like. Take it from here."

He carefully shrugs off Ray's hand, passes between the slumped guard figures of Mikey and Bob, and tries not to even touch Gerard as he trudges forward, but Gerard catches his hand. He doesn't say anything, and Frank thinks that maybe if he just ignores it and keeps walking, Gerard will drop it and leave him alone, but instead, Gerard leaves the guys behind and walks into his room behind Frank, hand still gripping his.

"Gee, I'm –"

"You need rest, I know," Gerard interrupts easily. "Your mom left a note. I'm putting you to bed," he explains.

Frank turns around, wincing at the pinch of pain around his ribs, and looks at Gerard in surprise. Gerard just watches him back, eyes still earnest as ever, not a trace of irony anywhere. Frank huffs out a laugh and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He has no idea how he's even standing right now, much less how he could fight off a stubborn Gerard.

"'Kay. Fine." He becomes intensely aware of just how naked he is when Gerard's eyes slide a little downward, and then he remembers the caked blood all over his body, fuck. "I, uh. I probably need to get cleaned up before I can get in bed, though." The idea of even turning on the shower makes his hands ache.

Gerard just shrugs. "Nah, we'll wash the sheets afterwards, if you want. You're fine."

Frank deflates in relief. For the first time in his life, he doesn't care that he'll get blood all over the sheets. He allows himself to be turned around and walked the two steps it takes to get him into bed, and then Gerard is pulling back the blankets and gently pushing Frank down onto them.

Frank gets ready for the moment when the blankets will settle around him, but instead, more cold air hits him and then Gerard is right behind him, chest and knees and feet all tucked up at his back.

"What –"

"Shut up, I'm tired, too," Gerard mumbles into his neck, and Frank burrows deeper into his pillow, feeling all the places where he hurts, and all the places where he's almost uncomfortably hot, and he knows that it's his own fault he can't kick Gerard out of his bed. He can vaguely hear the other guys mumbling on the other side of the wall, and Gerard's moving around a bit behind him, getting comfortable maybe, the mattress dipping and pulling beneath them both. Frank feels something warm and buzzing seep its way into his gut. It's stupid, really, the security he feels just now, it's just his exhaustion talking, but it's better than focusing on the pain, he guesses, and anyway, he's so not up to analyzing anything right now. He strains to hear what the guys might be saying when their voices rise, and then he's hearing nothing at all.

*

When Frank wakes up, Gerard is already gone, but the bed is still kind of warm where he used to be. Frank stretches all of his joints and winces. He's sore and his head is fuzzy as shit, like he's stoned, but without the fun part. He's also sweating like crazy, but as soon as he drops the covers, the cold hits him. He fights through the pain and rolls himself slowly off the bed. The sheets really are fucking gross, he realizes when he looks down, but he wraps himself up in a blanket, anyway, because there's no way he's up for laundry right now.

When he opens his bedroom door, he can immediately smell pop tarts and slightly burnt toast, and the guys aren't actually trying to be quiet at all, judging by the noises streaming in from the living room. He follows his nose and stumbles through the hallway, his eyes barely open slits.

They're all lounging around his house like they own it. Bob and Mikey are duking it out on World of Warcraft, hooked up to Mom's TV, Ray's found Frank's old acoustic and he's strumming something that's pretty at odds with the WoW background music, but he looks so lost in it, Frank doesn't think he's noticed. Gerard's curled up on the couch with his sketchbook. His back is to Frank, but maybe something crucially werewolf-like's rubbed off on him, because he swivels around as soon as Frank comes into the room, before anybody else has even noticed him enter.

"Frankie!" he beams and sits up on his knees, sketchbook falling to the floor. He's got dark rings under his eyes. "How are you?"

The guys all casually echo Gerard's greeting, barely even looking up, and Frank can't actually speak for a long moment. He almost clawed them all to death last night, could have killed or turned any one or even _more_ of them, and it's like they don't even _care_. Like this is a normal Saturday morning for them, no biggie.

"Hey," he nods, and then he stumbles back out, drops the blanket in the hallway and runs like a little kid, locking himself in the bathroom. He can't think about it. He _won't._

He stands under the punishing spray of the shower while his skin tingles and nearly burns, and tries to maybe get his breath back. He can't have this. He can't. He isn't supposed to, not after all this fucking time. He's not that lucky.

He scrubs himself raw, poking at every bruise and scar. His ribs ache with each move, too, too tender and soft somehow. His back pinches every time he takes a deep breath.

By the time he's dried and dressed in his bedroom, he's a lot more awake. A sudden vibration reaches his ears and he looks over at his bedside table. He can't remember getting his phone out, but it's right there, next to his alarm clock.

He grabs it and scrolls through.

 _hi honey please call when you're up to it_

She sent that one at five am. The next three are an hour apart each, all cool and calm on the surface, but Frank knows better. He should have called Mom as soon he was back to human.

He plops down onto the bed to hit the speed dial. She picks up on the second ring.

"Baby?"

"Hey, Mom," he smiles and his face feels kind of brittle. "I'm fine."

"Oh, thank God. It wasn't – you managed?"

He nods, then clears his throat. "Yeah, Gerard and – yeah, he was great. Locked me up, no problem. It's over, you know…"

"Good," she says, then adds, quieter, "That's good."

Frank nods and doesn't say anything.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink yet?" she asks.

"Nah, not yet."

She sighs. "I did leave Gerard a _note_. You better have something now, Frankie. And stay in bed, okay?"

He cracks another smile. "Sure, okay, Mom. I'm gonna go and, uh, sleep, all right?"

She makes a noise like she wants to protest, but immediately covers it up. "Of course. And I'm coming home tomorrow night."

"Oh, yeah, how – uh."

Mom sighs longer this time. "She went very peacefully, in the end. Tomorrow morning is the funeral."

Frank closes his eyes and hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Mom," he says and means it.

"I know, honey. Thank you. Say hello to Gerard for me, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Frank's about to hang up, when he hears her voice rise, and when he puts the phone back to his ear, she's already mid-sentence. "- him _home_ , right?"

"What?"

" _Gerard,_ " she says. "He can go home now, and you rest. Yes?"

"Uh." Frank wipes a sweaty palm on his thigh and looks around like she's maybe watching him from somewhere. "Totally. He's totally going home now."

Mom breathes through the receiver for a little while, then says, "Okay, baby. I'll see you soon."

Frank sits with the phone in his hands for a while feeling guilty before making himself stand back up. Then he hides behind his bedroom door and counts to twenty.

When he finally mans up and comes back into the living room, they all stop what they're doing and look up at him. He takes a deep breath. He can do this.

"So, uh. Thanks, you know?" he starts, feeling like a complete tool, standing in the doorway, making a fucking _speech._ All eyes are on him, except for Gerard's. He's bent half over his sketchbook, pretending to draw, but his hand isn't moving. Through the curtain of hair, Frank can see that the tips of his ears are bright red. He looks away and watches the wall while he talks. "But, uh. That'll never happen again, okay? Like. I'll – I'm never asking again, it was fucking stupid, and – and I'm really fucking sorry, okay?" He wants to run away and never look back, but he forces himself to stand still, gripping the doorway till he's white-knuckled. "Don't, like – I mean, I will totally get it if you never want, you know –"

"Frank, shut the fuck up," Ray sighs and shakes his head.

Frank almost bites his tongue by accident. "What?"

"We _managed_ it, dude," Bob pipes up, dropping his gaze down to the magazine in his lap. "It was fine. Kind of boring, actually. For the rest of us."

"Yeah," Mikey agrees. "I was totally expecting, like, blood and guts and shit. But your claws were pretty sweet, I guess."

"And we cleaned up the puke," Ray tells him, all teeth on display.

Frank stares at the pack of morons in front of him. "What the _fuck_ -"

"Dude, chill, seriously. We're fine, you're fine, sit the fuck down and quit hovering," Bob snaps, then looks Frank in the eye. "Okay?"

Frank nods mutely and moves fully into the room. On shaky legs he slides down to the floor and catches Gerard's eye by accident. Gerard gives him a tiny secretive grin.

*

Frank wakes up drooling on the living room couch, completely disoriented. His Nintendo controller falls onto the floor when he shifts, and the sound wakes him up fully. The windows are completely dark, and when he moves his head, wincing at the crick in his neck, he notices a sudden flurry of activity.

"Uh." He wipes the drool off on the pillow and croaks, "What's up?"

Mikey announces that he's got a party to get to.

"Oh, is that a party in Alicia's pants?" Gerard asks primly and Frank cranes his neck look at the rest of the guys. Mikey ignores Gerard's remark, but he does give Frank a wave.

"See you, dude," he says, then kicks at something on the floor. "Gee, you're in charge of taking this shit back."

Bob and Ray exchange a couple of glances in Gerard's direction that Frank's pretty sure he's not supposed to notice, and then start to pack up their shit. He wants to move or protest, but the couch feels good, plus his arms are asleep underneath him. He calls out a vague "Bye!" at them all as they troop out.

Gerard locks the door after them. Then he comes back in and shuffles up to the couch, sinking down onto the floor in front of Frank.

"Hey. You hungry?" he asks. "Your mom left some stuff for you in the fridge, I guess, if you wanted it." His voice is quiet, weirdly soothing in the darkened room. Frank hums and closes his eyes again. He's exhausted, but weirdly not hungry.

"I'm good, maybe I'll get some water, though," he thinks out loud, trying to find the strength to leave the couch and walk to the kitchen. Before he can even try, though, Gerard is on his feet and out the door.

Frank listens to him opening every cupboard, then to the clanking of glasses and the running water. He watches the curtains that he should probably close now that it's dark and doesn't move. It's weird to have Gerard in their space like this, moving around like it's not a huge deal, like it's normal. When he appears by Frank's side again with the water, all Frank can do is take it from him and drink. He watches Gerard's face over the rim of the glass.

Gerard sets the glass on the floor when Frank's done, and Frank thinks he should remember to get it later, before Mom sees it.

"What time is it?" he asks and yawns. He's been asleep so long, he has no idea what the fuck the guys even did all day in his house.

"After eight, I think. You were pretty out of it, huh?" He gives Frank a careful, sidelong look, then grunts as he gets up. "Here, I'll take you to, uh. Here." He's extending his hand for Frank to grab, and it takes Frank an embarrassingly long time to roll himself up and off the couch.

Gerard leads them both into Frank's dark room. He doesn't let Frank do much, and he doesn't turn on the light. Frank is too tired to fight being prodded into stripping off his shirt, or to help Gerard unzip his jeans for him. He struggles out of them and plops onto the bed, scooting all the way down until his back is to the cold wall. He sniffs. The sheets smell a hell of a lot better than they had in the morning.

"Gee, did you _wash_ these?" he asks, disbelieving, running his hands all over them.

Gerard just shrugs, stepping out of his shoes.

"Holy shit," Frank breathes. "Where was I?"

Gerard throws him a quicksilver smile. "Out. Mikey helped me put them back on, I fucking hate fitted sheets, man."

Frank laughs and watches Gerard shed his pants, then strip off his own shirt, which leaves his hair a mess. Frank knows he's being a horrible son, but no way is he passing this up. Someday, Mom will forgive him.

He opens up the covers and Gerard wordlessly gets in.

It's not late, and Gerard's probably not tired, but it feels like the middle of a very long and confusing night to Frank.

They lie carefully facing each other for what feels like hours. Frank is really glad they never turned on the light, because even in the dark, Gerard watching him like this could blind him. Then Gerard moves closer between the sheets and leans in to kiss Frank carefully on the mouth.

Frank's chest aches from keeping his breath in. Gerard's lips are a little chapped, but sweet, soft to the touch. Frank feels like his entire body has been uncapped, upending him onto the sheets. He melts against Gerard's hand on his shoulder, and whimpers when Gerard pulls away.

"I'm sorry I didn't get it," Gerard whispers, and at first Frank can't even get his mind to work enough to figure out what he's even talking about.

"Sorry about what?" he asks and his voice breaks a bit from disuse.

Gerard screws his eyes shut and flaps his hand around. "I didn't get how _bad_ it was, you know, with the – changing into the wolf and… I just – I thought it was so _cool_ , you know? But you were – screaming and shaking and… And it was just – I'm sorry for thinking it was nothing, it's not, it's _awful_." His voice gets hoarse, like it's being wrenched out of his throat, and Frank watches him, barely blinking. Jesus, here it comes. Gerard has finally _gotten_ it, he's figured it out. Frank isn't human; he's a fucking _mutant._ Frank doesn't realize he's inched away until the cold wall startles him at his back again.

"Gerard," he whispers without a plan, "I'm – I'm sorry –"

Gerard pinches his mouth, like he's holding himself back, and then he's lunging forward and pinning Frank between his chest and the wall. Frank barely holds his gasp in check. Gerard's hands are hot on his hips, and his breath is scorching against Frank's face. "Why are you – no, Frank, it's - _I'm sorry,_ okay? I'm so fucking – I think you were trying to tell me, and I just – and you're so fucking strong, you know? You've been – it's been years, since you were a fucking kid, and you're just going through it, and - and when we first met, I thought you were so _different_ and I didn't get why, you know, I just – I wanted –"

Frank's skin feels like it's on fire and turning to ice at the same time. His body revolts at being pinned down, but he doesn't want to move away from Gerard, not ever. Gerard's hot and soft against him, gaze flickering between Frank's eyes and mouth and Frank's breath is coming in short now, he can't think. "Gee –"

"No, wait," Gerard interrupts him, hands squeezing Frank's sides. "I'm– I'm _sorry_ I told the guys. It wasn't – it wasn't my thing to tell, and I'm really sorry, okay?" He watches Frank expectantly, eyes darting back and forth between Frank's. Frank's throat squeezes around air. Gerard means it. He means every fucking word. "I'll never tell again, _nobody_ will know, okay?"

When Frank can make his mouth work, he only manages to whisper, "Okay."

"Thank you," Gerard breathes. Then he closes his eyes and bites his lip, pressing a little bit closer, his fingers squeezing hard around Frank's body. Their knees bump under the covers. "And I've been – I've been thinking about this, you know, while you've been, like, sleeping and stuff, and I spent the whole night thinking about it, too, like, trying to wrap my mind around this shit. ‘Cause it's crazy, I mean, I know you know, but it _is_ , so I had to, like, put it all in perspective and whatever. And it's really hard to be sane about it when you're just down in the basement, ripping at yourself and being hurt, you know, it's not _normal_ -"

Frank's brain's buzzing a mile a minute, he has no idea where Gerard is going with this. He's just whispering against Frank in the dark, and they're pressed so close together, his every word echoes and rumbles right against Frank's bare chest, vibrating skin on skin.

"But, like, I was thinking – you're not – you haven't _said_ anything about, like – well, and I'm not – I'm not asking for anything, really, I just – kind of have a question. Is that okay?"

Frank nods mutely, his skull buzzing with fear. Gerard's barely making sense.

"The sex thing. Do you only do it, like, with me, just because you…need it?" Gerard whispers, and when he stops, a huge silence falls on the already quiet room, trapping them both. Frank can feel it, the pounding _wait_ that comes off Gerard in waves, and his throat dries up. He bites his lip and tries to catch hold of a single thought out of a thousand that are swirling around his brain.

"Do you – do you think that's what it is?" he asks finally, knowing he's a chicken-shit, but he has no idea which answer is worse right now.

Gerard retreats from him, eyebrows drawing in, and Frank feels the cold air hit him in the chest where the space has formed. "I don't know, I just. I guess I wanted to know if it's the werewolf thing, or – or –"

"No," Frank says and it rings out way too loud. He closes his eyes and sags down. "No, it's not – I mean." He owes Gerard. "At first, that – first time? You know… In the bathroom?" He wonders if there's a chance either one of them will ever forget it, even fifty years from now. When Gerard nods jerkily, Frank continues. "That was because I needed it, and you were there. But, like. It's not – it hasn't been like that." Not for months. "It's not like that anymore, okay?" he mutters and wants to bury his hot face in the pillow, but forces himself to keep watching Gerard's face.

"Yeah?" Gerard asks after a minute, a tiny grin already tugging up at his mouth. "So, it's not just ‘cause you need it?"

Frank shakes his head, hair rustling against the pillow. "No."

Gerard's tiny grin transforms into a huge, beaming smile and he slides his hands until he's gripping Frank's sweaty hand under the covers. "That's really fucking good. ‘Cause I have to tell you something else I've been thinking about and trying to figure out, okay?" Gerard asks and the smile drops off his now-serious face. Frank nods, tensing up all over again. Gerard's been thinking a lot. Frank suddenly feels very much behind.

"So, I think I'm really fucking in love with you," Gerard whispers, looking at him through messy bangs, and squeezes their sweaty palms together.

Frank's stomach kicks and transforms into a writhing mess and he can't find his voice or even a single brain cell for the next eternity of a moment. He searches for the fear and the panic, because they've got to be there somewhere, then digs deep for the knowledge that he won't be able to reciprocate, because isn't that hidden somewhere, too? But instead, what he finds is that he wants to kiss Gerard until they're both out of breath and his bed and his room and the entire goddamn _world_ falls away, because he's never felt anything like this in his whole life.

He does try to tell Gerard this, his heart pounding a staccato between his tender ribs, but by then, Gerard has probably already realized it anyway, because he doesn't even wait for Frank to finish the sentence before he's on him, breath and body and trembling hands.

*

When Frank wakes up, Gerard's arm is heavy around his hips. They're both buried under the covers, and it stinks to high heaven. Frank gently slides the blankets down until he can feel the cool air hit his face, then pauses and looks at Gerard.

He's got lines all over his face from Frank's pillow, and he's drooling like a puppy. His chest is flushed, uneven pink splotches covering his skin, and when Frank slides his gaze down, he sees that Gerard's completely naked, even though when they passed out, he still had his briefs on. Frank's hand twitches from keeping himself to himself. Gerard looks absurdly more beautiful than he should.

Frank replays last night in his mind, his brain stuck like a broken record on what Gerard had said. Frank wonders if he'll still feel that way when the room is bright and Frank isn't hidden by the dark anymore. He's on his fourth replay of the word that sent his brain reeling, giddiness welling up in his belly, when Gerard shivers, stirs, and cracks open his eyes.

"Hey, Frankie," he mumbles and smiles, and Frank can't wait anymore. He leans in and kisses Gerard's stinky morning mouth, then pushes forward, rolls them over, and climbs on top of him. They've been naked together before, but it's never felt like a luxury he didn't have to worry about affording before. He ignores Gerard's laughter and kisses him until Gerard stops laughing, then lets his hands wander all down Gerard's sides, squeezing the softness around his hips, then sliding down around to his smooth ass.

Gerard hums against him and moves his legs until Frank's lying between them, their hard dicks lined up in a way that sends tiny electric currents down Frank's spine. He can feel the shape of Gerard's grin with his own lips.

He thrusts once, an experimental roll of his hips, and Gerard throws his head back and arches beneath him. "Fuck, yeah," he pants against Frank's ear, and Frank grins, thrusting forward again. _Fuck_ , yeah.

He drops his head down to nose at the crook of Gerard's neck, and shoves his hips forward again and again. The spot where his nose is buried smells like his bed and Gerard's sweat, and without any conscious decision, he licks the spot over and over again, feeling goose bumps rising all along Gerard's skin. _Fuck_.

"Gee, Gerard," he mumbles, still thrusting against him, unable to stop now that they've started, "Gee, you're so hot, you're so fucking _hot_."

"Frankie," Gerard whimpers and claws at his back, making all the hair stand up on Frank's body.

Frank wants to hear what Gerard's got to say, he does, but now that his mouth is open, the words won't stop, and he turns his head just enough to let them tumble right into Gerard's ear, where he will be sure to hear them. "So hot, you feel so fucking good, Gee, I wanna see you come again – you're beautiful when you come – I love it when you do, love making you come –"

Gerard makes a strangled sound against him and bucks, spilling out between them.

Frank whimpers and shoves up harder, faster, through the mess. "Gee – fucking love you, God, _fuck –_ "

He holds onto Gerard so tightly when he comes, shaking frantically like a leaf, that for one wild moment, he thinks they'll actually get glued together – a two-headed, eight-limbed beast that will slowly solidify into a graying fossil while the rest of the world – this house, this town, this _life_ , will crumble all around them, and one day, centuries later, they'll be discovered and put on display in some futuristic museum in space, and for that one moment, Frank can't think of there being anything wrong with it, anything wrong at all.

*

 _On the pike, be there in under an hour!_

Frank curses and bites his lip. _That_ is a warning, he thinks, and looks over at Gerard, who's watching him curiously from the foot of the bed.

"Mom's almost home," he explains and drops the phone on the floor. "You should – you should go," he breathes, heart sinking. They spent the entire afternoon naked, kissing and talking in the quiet peaceful house. A squeal of tires reaches Frank's ears and he jumps. "Shit –"

"Yeah, okay," Gerard agrees quickly and scrambles off the bed. Frank helps him find his pants and shoes, then watches while Gerard gets dressed, his skin disappearing from view bit by bit. Frank fights every urge to reach out and touch and get something started until Gerard's all tucked away and zipped up. Frank just slips on his briefs.

Slowly, he helps Gerard gather all of his and Mikey's crap from the living room and the den, then walks him just as slowly to the front door. He doesn't let go of Gerard's hand.

"Shit," Gerard says in a low voice and squeezes Frank's fingers, eyes cast down. "I kind of –"

"I know," Frank breathes and looks up from their linked hands. "Thanks," he says a moment later, feeling like a tool now, standing basically naked in his front hall with Gerard wearing every article of warm clothing known to man. He shivers but forces himself not to look away. "For, you know. Everything."

Gerard gives him a small pleased smile and nods. "Totally." He leans in. Frank closes his eyes, anticipating his kiss, but all he feels is Gerard's breath for a long moment. "Love you," Gerard murmurs and Frank's eyes fly open. He swallows. There's almost no air between them, they're so close, and Gerard's face is a blur in front of him, eyes crossed into one, eyebrows a single smudged line.

"Love you, too," Frank whispers and goes hot all over. He gets to _do_ this now. It's weird, saying it to someone who isn't his mom or dad; hearing it from Gerard's mouth sends a shiver down his spine. He wonders if people ever get used to hearing it. He can't imagine that he ever will.

Gerard just smiles at him again and when they kiss, Frank feels the smooth swishy material of Gerard's coat all down his front. The cold zipper zaps at his skin but he can't make himself pull away. He presses closer, instead, until the zipper is a warm line down his skin and against his hard cock.

"Fuck, _seriously_ , you should go," he pants into Gerard's neck, grabbing onto Gerard's hands around his ass and pulling them apart. "I'm so totally dead if she busts us, no joke."

Gerard makes a noise of protest, but steps back and grabs the bags at his feet. Once his messenger bag is slung over one shoulder and Mikey's backpack over the other, they hold each other's gaze for a while, both grinning like idiots. Then Gerard flicks his gaze down to Frank's obvious boner and Frank watches as his cheeks flush red. He rolls his eyes, blushing back. "I'm _sorry_ , okay?"

Gerard bites his lip. "See you in school tomorrow?"

Frank's chest bubbles up with something bright that he can't quite pinpoint. "Yeah. Lunch." His mom might let him hang out at Gerard's after school, even. Maybe. If Gerard wanted to.

On impulse, he surges up, grabs Gerard's face, and kisses him, just a press of their mouths. Gerard makes a tiny noise, making their lips buzz lightly. Frank smiles.

"Okay," he breathes, once he manages to pull away. "You should go now."

Gerard looks slightly dazed, and knocks all of his crap into the door when he goes to unlock and open it. Frank sniggers and steps back so no neighbors spy him in basically his birthday suit. "Good luck getting home and shit."

"Yeah, fuck you very much," Gerard grumbles, but when he turns his head to look at Frank, he's smiling. "See ya."

Frank stares at the door for a long time after Gerard leaves, then finally shakes himself out of it and goes to put on some pants. When he climbs back into bed and buries his nose in his pillow, he gets a full-on Technicolor flashback of Gerard gasping beneath him. It takes him a while to leave his bed.

*

Frank's phone buzzes and he almost throws it against the wall in exasperation. What _now?_

He thumbs through the million texts from Gerard and Mikey and Ray and Bob and his dad and Jesus –

 _seriously im fine, Christ, leave me alone!_

He mass-texts this to everyone, then gets back to practicing "Mother." He's not even four chords in when the phone springs back to life.

"Mom!" he yells loud enough to wake up the neighbors. "Tell Dad to quit worrying, Jesus Christ, it's not the end of the world!"

It's just a _check-up._ He's had those before. He's pretty sure they won't detect "werewolf" in him now.

"I have, sweetie, but he doesn't think we know what we're doing!" she yells back. He knows that's not true, so he just laughs and gives up, picking up the phone.

 _we're kind of around, can we come & c u?_

Who the hell is "we," he wonders, but texts back "sure" immediately. Probably just Gerard and Mikey, which is cool. He hopes his mom will be okay with that, it's a school night. But he knows that despite all of her assurances, she's nervous about tomorrow, too. He gets a check-up regularly like all people, but his old pediatrician still gets suspicious when he sees that Frank's as healthy as an ox.

 _The little scrawny kid who'd get sick when anyone said ‘boo' is running a mile in seven minutes? What god-forsaken horse pills are you giving him, Linda?_

Frank goes through a few more chord progressions until he can't sit still anymore and goes to annoy Mom in the kitchen.

"You know," she says kind of thoughtfully, "you could help me cut up peppers instead of eating all of my chili ingredients."

He makes a stupid scrunched-up face at her, complete with a stuck-out tongue, and pops another bit of pepper in his mouth.

"Get the hell out of here, Frankie," she laughs, swatting at him with a towel. "Weren't you doing homework?"

He shrugs, trying not to feel too guilty. "Guitar practice. Sorry."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Baby, have you thought more about the brochures I got you? If you're going to go to school, you'll have to start visiting some, you know." She sounds almost resigned, and Frank takes that as a good sign. Maybe he'll wear her down eventually. At least she knows he's not ready.

From somewhere in the rubble of his brain, he excavates a phrase he's heard his guidance counselor use. "I'm still, you know. Considering all my options."

Her laugh is quick and unexpected. "Oh, honey. You do that, then." Before he can even protest, she pulls his face in with a damp hand and kisses him messily on the cheek.

"Ugh, Mom! You've got pepper hands," he squirms.

"As long as you're considering what's _best_ for you," she says, ignoring his protests. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny and bright. He flushes and looks away.

"Yeah, yeah, fine… Oh! So, uh –"

He's interrupted by the doorbell ringing out. She raises her eyebrow, all the pseudo tears gone in a flash. "And who is the unexpected guest?"

"Yeah, like, so Gerard and Mikey are stopping by? I think they're, like, you know… Uhm." He has no idea what their damage is, but he thinks he can guess.

"Concerned?"

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Well, then I guess you better let them in, then. Oh, but Frank!" she calls after him once he's halfway to the door, his heart already hammering, knowing it's Gerard on the other side. "They can only stay for an hour, tops, and then you're doing your math homework if I have to chain you to the chair, you hear me?"

"Got it!" he yells and throws open the door, letting in the frigid air. "Whoa."

"Hey, Frankie," Gerard beams and Frank's heart flutters stupidly. Assembled behind him are Mikey and Ray and Bob, all sporting damp hoodies and really red ears and noses.

"Uh – what's up, guys?" He steps away from the door and lets them all shuffle in one by one, until they're crowding the tiny hallway. Gerard's got snow stuck to his eyelashes, making him look kind of crazy and really, really pretty. Frank has to really hold himself in check not to lick the snow off his face right then and there.

"So, guess what!" Gerard says with no preamble, then stops, kind of panicked, when Frank's mom appears in the hall, wearing her apron and wielding a chopping knife. She didn't have that one when Frank was in the kitchen. He almost bursts into laughter. "Hi, Mrs. Iero!" Gerard says way too loudly.

The rest of the guys echo some of the syllables while she waves at them with the knife hand. "Hi, Gerard. Boys. Would you like some snacks?"

Frank rolls his eyes. "Mom, it's fine, Jesus. We're going to my room, okay?"

She narrows her eyes, but nods and turns back into the kitchen. He can hear her putting the knife away and giggles.

"All right, what's up?" he asks once he's closed his bedroom door.

"Hey, what were you playing?" Ray asks, instead, lifting Frank's guitar onto his lap and stroking it gently like it's a girl.

"Ray, wait, we gotta tell him first!" Gerard interrupts, bouncing on his feet, while Mikey and Bob pile on the bed behind Ray.

"Fine, Gee, go ahead. I'll be over here, you know, doing the actual stuff," Ray answers, rolling his eyes even as he slides one hand over the strings, plucking them into life.

"Tell me what? _What_ stuff?" Frank demands and looks between all four of them before turning his gaze back onto Gerard's over-excited, pink face. The snow has melted now and his eyelashes are wet and even more girly-looking than ever.

"Mikey bought a bass!"

Frank turns to Mikey. "What, seriously?"

Mikey breaks into the biggest grin Frank has ever seen on him. "I saved up my Christmas money, and I borrowed some from this dude I know, and there was a sale at that one store downtown today?"

Frank knows his eyes are huge and stupid, but that is _so cool._ "Where is it, dude?"

Bob rolls his eyes. "He had us drive him home first so he could store it in safety or whatever. Under his bed. Wrapped in ten sheets."

"Fuck you, it's new, okay?" Mikey elbows him in the ribs. "I mean, well, it's not _new_ , but it's new to _me_ , you know? And it's _blue_ , Frank." He's almost losing words, he's so excited, and Frank knows exactly how he feels. When he got his guitar, a huge part of him wanted to store it somewhere safe and never let it see the light of day, because the light of day was cruel, and he wanted his baby to stay as perfect as the day she had come into being. He got over it in about four hours, but the feeling stayed brand new for years.

"Whatever, whatever," Gerard interrupts, dropping down onto the bed beside Ray and upsetting whatever chord he had been strumming. "This means we can finally do it!"

"Do what?" Frank asks dumbly.

"Start our band! Think about it – you and Ray on guitars, because I fucking love guitar-heavy shit, and Bob's been taking drum lessons since, like, birth, right, Bob? And my grandma will be totally stoked I'm singing again, and with Mikey on bass – "

"Wait, wait – what? Band?"

Frank's looking at Gerard, trying to parse out the joke. Maybe he's lost his mind. He can remember a vague conversation a few months ago where Gerard was three sheets to the wind and running off at the mouth, all "wouldn't it be awesome, if…", but Frank doesn't remember being a part of that plan. He doesn't remember even _thinking_ about being a part of that plan.

"Dude, have you been paying attention to Gerard for the last few months?" Bob asks. "He's barely talked about anything else."

Frank _has_ been paying attention to Gerard. He's been paying a lot of attention to the developing comic Gerard's been working on about a vampire who falls in love with his own creation, and he's been paying attention to the way Gerard kisses him in the dark when they first close the door behind them during lunch. He's been paying attention to the fact that Gerard has started an obvious tendency to stick really close to Frank a few days before each full moon, talking and fucking Frank through it. He's also been paying attention to the way Gerard has been whispering Frank's name in the dark, when it's just the two of them and nobody else exists in the world.

But maybe, he admits, he hasn't been paying as much attention as he should have.

"You guys are fucking nuts. When are we even gonna practice?" he asks, suddenly realizing that he's going to get an answer. And he's right.

"Mikey knows a dude with studio space he'd let us use, it's in his dad's basement –"

"And we'll have time in the summer, especially Gee and Ray, they'll be out of school, and they won't be _that_ far in the city –"

"Bob's getting a full kit for his birthday, dude, it's _solid_ –"

"And then I've got a guy who can probably hook us up with a few local gigs, to get it started?" Ray rattles off. "You know, eventually, once we get better. Also, West High has Battle of the Bands in the fall, we could probably get in on that. I mean, you three are still in school."

"So, what do you think?"

All eyes are on Frank as he stands stupidly in the middle of his room, watching all of them back. It's like they don't give a shit about the number of times he's bailed on them because he's been too busy slobbering and chewing the walls up in his basement. Like it doesn't matter that he's a crazy-assed inhuman kid who's liable to try and climb you like a tree when the moon is right, or beat the shit out of you if you look at him wrong.

They're all watching and waiting for him to answer, and when Frank turns to look at Gerard, who's busy chewing on his thumb nail and watching Frank back, he pauses his swirling thoughts-in-progress to mentally apologize to Mom and just take a long, deep breath.

"What kind of sound are you thinking for it? And if you say T-Rex, I am out of here."

"Actually, I was thinking we'd start with Abba and go from there," Bob pipes up after a moment of silence.

Frank's face breaks into a huge grin and his heart feels like it might flutter away like a moth. "All right, Fernando. Then I think I'm in."


	5. Epilogue

Frank's pacing back and forth in the makeshift backstage. He's already taken a piss, and almost puked in the alley outside. It would probably have made him feel better, but he also hadn't eaten all day, and vomiting up bile is not what he'd call a good time.

"Chill the fuck out or I'll punch you in the face," Bob drops casually as he walks by carrying Ray's amp. "Or give me a hand with this shit, I'm not your fucking roadie."

"Sorry, sorry," Frank breathes and runs up to grab the amp from Bob. It's good to have something physical to do that will distract him.

The moon's effects have been a lot more bearable the past few years, the changes whittled down to nearly routine. Frank has tried his level best not to dwell on the whys and the therefores, but he doesn't really need to. He knows all the whys; he can feel the therefore somewhere nearby even now, like they're tied together by an invisible string. Frank knows that the day after tomorrow, he'll wake up in a storage container on his uncle's farm sore and starving, but whole enough to play the gig they've got booked in Pittsburgh that same night.

But that doesn't mean he can't feel her pull even now. Day away, and his skin tingles, his breath coming in short. This part never really goes away.

Maybe he'll have a quick smoke before they're up.

He's already sweating like a pig by the time they set up, and he escapes Ray's concerned looks and Mikey's bony-assed fingers all up in his business where he's been randomly poking Frank all fucking night long, and the first drag feels amazing.

He scrolls through the new messages in his inbox.

 _Hope you're having a good time Frankie, don't forget to call when you all head back home, I'll make your favorite. Love, Mom_

 _Knock ‘em dead, son & Uncle George said the place is ready 4 u tonite, whenever you boys finish up. Love u, keep safe._

 _Dear Frank, please tell my boys that I'm not going to be their personal launderer next week & to find a laundromat en route. They don't believe me & they should. Luv, Donna_

 _PS, Gerard's gotten his fin aid package for senior year. M says he won't care but I thought I'd ask you to tell him. G's forgotten cell phones exist in the world._

Frank cracks up and thumbs quick replies to everyone, in case he forgets to later.

He sucks the cigarette down in five minutes, coughs up the last of it, spits a pretty satisfying glob onto the pavement, pops a mint, then heads back in. The sun's set completely in the grey sky and the feel of that white pie in the sky heightens his awareness of the tiny club. Pumping sweaty bodies pressed closed together, stale beer mixed in with fresh pints with too much head; somebody's drinking whiskey sours. Somebody's getting sucked off in a bathroom stall, and he _really_ wishes he couldn't smell that shit.

He almost vomits again from that, when a familiar scent enters the premises. Frank breathes out in relief and his skin settles.

"Hey," Gee whispers in his ear, a light hand over the small of Frank's back. "Five minutes."

"I know," Frank nods and leans back a touch. "You gotta call your mom, dude, she sounds real cranky."

"Ugh, I know, I just keep forgetting, you know?" Gerard huffs. "I'm writing a bunch of new lyrics, and I just get carried away sometimes. Like, lost in it or something." His breath is hot against Frank's ear. Gerard hasn't showered in over a week, and his smell saturates the air around them. Frank doesn't mind, breathing in his familiar stink. He tries to ignore the hard-on that develops in his jeans, but he knows it's futile. Pretty soon, no one will see it behind his guitar, anyway.

"Will you share with the rest of class?" he asks, instead, to distract himself.

"Not yet," Gerard whispers.

Frank shrugs, then pushes away. "All right, let's go," he says just as Mikey and Bob and Ray come up to flank them. He lets the four of them to go on ahead, slapping each one with a high-five, then grabs his guitar from the stand, pulls it over his neck and strides out, hands clasped behind his back.

His skin vibrates, his entire body pulsating to the beat that Bob and Mikey set right off the bat, and then he's gone in the hot lights and thrumming crowd and Gerard's voice screaming out for Columbus, Ohio to fucking welcome them with screams of their own.

Frank closes his eyes, grins, and drops to his knees. If he concentrates hard enough, he'll ride this one out on all their joy combined.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> [Art Post](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/1016060.html)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> by kidsxheroes  
> [Mix Post](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/1015687.html) by maryangel200  
> [Bonus Art Post!](http://theopteryx.livejournal.com/26206.html) by theopteryx

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/432062) by [argentumlupine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumlupine/pseuds/argentumlupine)




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